


Hurricane Drunk

by BetsyByron



Series: College Bondlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, bondlock - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Boyfriends, Brothers, Crossover, Falling In Love, Fluff, Insecurity, Kidnapping, Love at First Sight, M/M, Sexual Assault, Sexual Coercion, Threats, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 34,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetsyByron/pseuds/BetsyByron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Putting yourself in those states. This is utterly ridiculous, Quinton. And for what? Pair of blue eyes that will never look at you the same way you disgustingly blatantly do.”</p><p>“And the bluest blue ever.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> College AU, so everyone is fresh and young :)  
> Quinton is 16 and in the first year of his Bachelor (in IT)  
> Sherlock is 19 and starting his Masters (in Anthropology)  
> Mycroft is 26 and already working (not at the top of the Government yet but somewhere not that far)  
> James is 22 and doing his Masters too (in Law)  
> John is 21 and is in army-doctor school
> 
> Soundtrack: Hurricane Drunk by Florence and the Machine

At three in the morning and really very drunk, Quinton hadn’t wanted to risk waking up his roommate. The guy was less than lenient when it came to anything other than studying his ass off to make sure he was the best at every subject. Which was kind of a waste of effort when sharing a room with a Holmes.

He now regretted his decision to turn to his brother – who had his own room, as a postgraduate, at the other end of the campus. Curled up on the bathroom floor, only raising his head from time to time to cough up more of his guts in the toilet bowl, he felt miserable enough not to need Sherlock’s lecture on top of it.

“Putting yourself in those states. This is utterly ridiculous, Quinton.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?” The younger brother retorted, his voice raspy.

“And for what?” Sherlock went on anyway. “Pair of blue eyes that will _never_ look at you the same way you disgustingly blatantly do.”

Quinton knew better than to deny the fact; Sherlock had known his brother was in love before he had realized himself.

“And the bluest blue ever.” He replied faintly.

“Please.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Quoting Doctor Who is not going to get you anywhere.”

The youngest Holmes closed his eyes, looking even younger than he was – any respectable member of the family got into college at least a couple of years before the normal age.

“Leave me alone.” He breathed. “You’ve never been in love.”

Sherlock knelt beside him, pushing back the dark curls on his sweaty forehead.

“Quinn.” He said softly. “You can’t let your emotions get the better of you.”

Quinton sniffed in derision. He appreciated his brother’s effort, but what did he know about emotions. He had always been exceptionally – and wilfully – detached from almost everything and everyone around him.

“What do you suggest I do? It’s not like there an off-switch.”

“Get him out of your head. Have you tried looking at other guys?”

Quinn considered mocking Sherlock for not having the first clue about what attraction like he was feeling was, but the man was really trying.

“You’re sixteen.” Sherlock added. “You have needs. It shouldn’t be too difficult to distract yourself from James bloody Bond.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which dancing can be dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Non-con/attempted rape - and Quinn is underage.

Quinton didn’t want to choose, because whoever they were, they weren’t _him._ He was okay with taking his brother’s advice, but he was going to let the distraction find him. First come, first served.

The room was as crowed as usual, with students making the most of their Thursday night, getting very pissed very quick and shaking their bodies frantically in rhythm with the music.

Quinn had never really joined in, sharing Sherlock’s aversion of such gross rubbing-together of sweaty bodies. He mostly stayed on the side, outside-looking-in, watching James – and lately drinking until his vision blurred and he couldn’t see him anymore.

But what the hell.

As soon as he started dancing, he remembered he was good at it. There had been this time in high school when he was hanging out with Julia and Charles, they would go dancing almost every night. It wasn’t as crowded and sweaty then, but his body still knew the moves and he found out he liked it even now.

It wasn’t long before the way he swayed his hips attracted people. A girl, first, who danced in front of him for a moment, getting closer and closer until she locked her arms around his neck. Quinn rested his hands on the small of her back, and he let her enjoy it for a couple of minutes before he leaned it to yell so she would hear:

“Sorry sweetheart, but I’m gay.”

She pulled out of his arms with an irritated expression, and mouthed something like “Asshole” before she wiggled her way through the crowd and away from him.

Quinton didn’t have time to reflect upon it; a body pressed behind him and hands slid on the front of his trousers; his back merged with the other guy’s chest as they kept dancing. His breath hitched when one hand brushed his crotch very unquestionably not by chance, and his dancing partner spoke into his ear:

“Let’s get out of here, pretty boy.”

In a matter of seconds, it seemed, they were out in the alley kissing the air out of each other’s lungs. Quinn hadn’t even had a chance to get a good look at the guy, but he was tall, with hair dyed blond and carefully combed back, and very, very strong hands.

Hands that were all over his body, and very soon busy undoing a button and finding their way into his trousers. Quinn whimpered when one hand reached down and clasped the front of his briefs.

Suddenly he wasn’t sure he was ready for this. He was okay with sex, he probably had more experience of it than his two brothers put together. But maybe not pinned against a brick wall in the back alley of some college bar, with a guy about ten years older than him who didn’t really look like he believed in foreplay.

“Wait.” He tried to push him back. “Can we not do this here?”

The other man laughed, moving his hand to slip it into Quinton’s pants and twisting his fingers around his cock in a way that, whether he wanted it or not, would soon make the boy hard.

“What?” The blonde mocked. “You want to take me home, make me breakfast in the morning and introduce me to your mummy?”

His voice was oozing with both complete contempt and wild lust. At this point, Quinn was very sure the man was going to hurt him. He might as well put up a fight.

Unfortunately, the guy was twice his size, and the amount of alcohol he had running through his veins didn’t help. If anything, his flimsy attempt to get away only made the blonde more eager and resolute. He slammed him back against the wall with a hand pressing on his throat, kissing him forcefully – Quinton tasted his own blood.

The guy’s other hand was still busy, moving on to find Quinn’s hole. When he pushed his middle finger in, Quinton started yelling. Now he was sure he wasn’t ready for that.

“Get the fuck off me!” He shouted.

His body was entirely blocked by the other, much larger body pressing him against the wall, grinding against his front as his hand kept probing at the back. The blonde laughed again.

“Now, now.” He said in his most syrupy voice. “You really think I’ll let your intoxicating, lean and squirmy little body get away?”

“Please.” Quinton whined.

It was a mistake.

“Begging, yes.” The other man commented. “I like that. You desperate little thing. Keep begging me to be gentle with you.”

He pushed his finger further in, and Quinn gasped, unable to deny that it wasn’t just pain and disgust he was feeling.

“Do something useful of your hands.” The man commanded, squeezing on this throat and ass at the same time with each of his own hands. “Lift up your shirt.”

Quinton tried refusing, but the hand on his throat pressed harder and it was too tight to speak.

“Do it.” The other insisted. “And I’ll _try_ not to leave too many bruises on you.”

Something in his tone indicated that, whatever he did, Quinton was in for a nasty rape and potential beating. His eyes were tearing up, and he convinced himself it was all from the strangling. He managed to gather enough air to croak a “No”.

The other guy snapped. He pulled his hand out of Quinn’s ass and shoved him violently against the garbage bins, adding in a kick in the stomach when he was on the ground.

He was about to get his hands back on him, weather it was to tear his clothes off and fuck him or to beat him to a pulp – probably both, in any order – when he was knocked back by a mighty right hook, leaving Quinn to crawl up against the wall, trying to catch his breath and mad with panic. The tears rolling down his face were definitely not just from the strangling.

The guy scampered off without angling for a second punch, and Quinton wasn’t even sure he could feel relieved just yet. His saviour stooped down to take a look at him, and he thought he might die of shame.

It had to be James Bond. It had to be James Bond saving him from a rape he had been calling for, moving like he had been, back then inside the club for everyone to see.

His blue eyes were filled with concern, and he touched a hand to Quinton’s shoulder.

“Hey.” He spoke. “Are you alright?”

Quinn couldn’t speak – for a lot of different reasons. James’s hand reached out and he took the glasses off his face; they were intact, at least. He put them in his breast pocket to bring both hands to Quinton’s face to check him up.

“Let me look at you.” James said in a very doctoral way. “Are you alright?” He insisted.

He pushed his chin up, brushed a finger along his split lip, inspected his neck.

“You’ll have bruises.” He diagnosed. “Hey. Can you talk or what?”

Quinton curled back into as small a ball as he possible could, forehead against his knees and arms covering his head.

“Leave me alone.” He said miserably.

In any other occasion his heart would have jumped out of his chest since James Bond was not only looking at him but actually touching him. But he ached everywhere, he was cold and he felt, for the first time since he had started college, way too young to be here.

Next thing he knew Bond had slipped both hands under his arms and pulled him to his feet with ridiculous ease. He made a comment about his being light, Quinn didn’t register – the guy was still holding him. His face was slightly blurry – he was good as blind without his glasses, even this close, and the lighting was rather crappy – but Quinton felt his breath taken away anyhow.

“Can you stand?” James asked, which explained why his hands were still on the boy’s ribs.

“I think so.” Quinn wagered.

His voice was raspy and unsteady. James let go, and his legs were holding him up alright, but it hit him that his jeans were still open and he fumbled to zip them up, feeling a blush creep up to his ears. James’s gaze flickered to his crotch and back up.

“Did he...”

Quinton shook his head no.

“Good.” James said. “Where do you live?”

“What?” It came out as barely more than a strangled whisper.

“I’m taking you home.” James declared. “Where do you live?”

“No.” Quinn shook his head. “I’ll be fine, don’t bother.”

There was only so much emotion he could take in one night. Besides, he felt like throwing up and he’d rather it wasn’t on James’s shoes.

“I live on campus, and I have my brother.” He insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

The last thing he wanted right now was to run to Sherlock, but if that could give James some peace of mind.

“What’s your name?” James asked.

“Let’s not do names.” Quinton answered.

It hurt more than it should. James was being nothing but nice, but this was not, really not how he had expected their first meeting to go – the days he allowed himself to envision that there would ever be a first meeting. He did not want James to have a name to put on this picture of him.

“Alright.” James lifted a hand and ran two fingers around the little silver lapel-pin on Quinn’s jacket. “Q.” He read. “You sure I can leave you?”

Quinn shuddered. The way he was saying just the first letter of his name felt more intimate than anything he had experienced before. _No,_ he wanted to say, _don’t ever leave me_. He was losing his mind over this guy. Not that it was news. He nodded vaguely.

“I’m five minutes away.” He tried to sound reassuring. “I’ll be fine.” He said for the third time, and it was just as untrue as the first two.

He escaped before James could speak again and he would be tempted to drown into his voice.

The walk was a little more than five minutes, as he had to stop midway to let his stomach inform him that it wouldn’t keep anything down any longer. Back in his dorm room, he sat in the shower until the water ran cold, paying no heed to the protestations of his roommate when he woke him up. He curled in his bed after that, frozen to the bones, and was completely unable to fall asleep until the crack of dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was Silva, btw. He'll probably be back. 
> 
> The names Julia and Charles are a reference to Brideshead Revisited, and I know in the movie Julia is his sister, but that’s just a wink to the names really.
> 
> The Q pin is a gift from Mycroft. Sherlock never wears his.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn is very young okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Because someone was offended by what I'd written, I want to say I absolutely do NOT think victims of rape are responsible for anything. However, I know people wonder if it's their fault sometimes, if they were too provocative, if they have a thing for attracting weirdos. I don't think it's out of place that Quinn freaks out a little bit that way.

The corridor was bustling with morning activity. Quinton was waiting for the noise to stop – it would barely be another ten minutes before everybody was off to whatever lesson they had and the dorm was left deserted. He had decided not to go to class today. In fact, he wasn’t sure he would even get up.

He had a splitting headache, which he knew was part hangover and part being slammed into a wall. His neck was sensitive, his stomach not quite right either, and he didn’t even begin to want to think about the slight soreness of his ass. All in all, he was a mess.

This was without mentioning the state of his heart. He had calmed down and sobered up enough to fully realize the extent of the disaster the previous night had been. 'Be careful what you wish for' had always been one of Mycroft’s favourite sayings – how he would laugh now.

Since he had first laid eyes on James Bond, he had wanted him to notice him. To look at him. To touch him, even if it was just a pat on the shoulder. He was uncertain about his sexuality before he came to college; he knew he was gay the instant he met those blue eyes, ever so briefly, across a roomful of freshers.

But now what? If James hadn’t forgotten him already, he was remembering a crying teenager in a back alley who had played with fire and burned himself like an idiot. The only comforting thought was, dark as it had been, he wasn’t sure James would even recognize him if they ran into each other. If he wasn’t wearing his Q pin and maybe changed his glasses...

Quinn sprung up in his bed. Glasses. What with the state he had been in and the pitch-black night which didn’t let it matter if he could see or not, he had forgotten to take his glasses back from James. He had another pair, that wasn’t the problem (although he didn’t like them as much); but it meant James would be looking for him, didn’t it? Oh, God.

He couldn’t face James. He was much more comfortable with ripping his own heart out of his chest and stomp on it by deciding not to see James every again. What on earth would he say to James? What would _James_ say? James. James. James. James. His brain had stopped functioning. He was totally unequipped to deal with this kind of situation, and he couldn’t exactly turn to his family for advice on What to do when the man you love saves you from rape and you have to see him again.

Actually, there was nobody he could turn to. He thought of calling Julia for a moment, but this was way too embarrassing. And considering his history with Charles... As for here, the friends he’d made were not nearly close enough to him to be dragged into this.

There was a knock on the door, and he answered mindlessly.

“Come in.”

He got up from bed, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror – hair more unruly than ever, dark rings under his eyes, split and swollen lip and red-purple marks on his neck, he was a dreadful sight. Unsure of who was knocking, he turned to look for a pair of jeans, but here he was in his boxers and t-shirt when the door opened.

He stopped breathing.

Now this was unfair. The universe could have at least given him a little more time to come up with an adequate attitude to adopt when he would next have to see James Bond. No such luck. Instead he was standing frozen in the middle of his room, blinking like an owl.

“What are you doing here?”

Yep, his brain had definitely abandoned the ship. James came a little closer, out of the fog his poor eyesight imposed him.

“I came to return those.” He waved the glasses. “And check on you.”

“Check on...Ch...Wh...Why?” Quinn stammered. “And how did you find me?”

“You’re not a very difficult guy to find, Quinton Holmes. Dark curls, hipster glasses, has a name that starts with Q, if you’re to believe the pin he wears, very thin and looks about twelve years old. The first person I asked sent me directly to you.”

He cocked his head to the side with a frown.

“How old _are_ you?” He wondered out loud.

“Sixteen.” Quinn confessed in a strangled voice. “Does it matter?”

“As for why I am checking on you,” James resumed, apparently ignoring the question, “well, you are sixteen and almost got raped.”

“I am aware of the fact.” The young man snapped. His heart was beating stupidly fast, and he would have given everything for James to know anything else about him but this he had just said.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” James said gently. “I knew someone once who...” He trailed off. “Do you need to see a doctor? A psychologist?”

“I’m fine.” The young Holmes assured.

“Okay.”

He stood there for a moment, and Quinn thought he would go so he could hang himself already, but he looked like there was something else on his mind.

“What?” He prompted.

“Do you...” James started hesitantly. “Do you know who he is?”

Quinton felt a shiver crawl down his spine.

“No idea.” He murmured. “Just a guy.”

A guy who wasn’t you. For God’s sake, he had to pull himself together.

“Why?” He threw. “You the campus vigilante or something?”

For all the times he had watched him from a distance, Quinn had never seen James look more serious.

“Remember that person I knew who was raped?” He said dryly. “She killed herself. And I know he didn’t fully get his way with you, but there’s no guarantee he’s not going to look for seconds. I don’t want any of it on my conscience.”

Quinton looked completely lost for a second. How was he supposed to react to that?

“You don’t have to get involved.” He offered. “We’re not friends.”

“Well,” James replied, “I got involved when I punched the bastard in the face.”

He stepped forward and put the glasses back on his nose, and Quinn blinked like an idiot again – he had almost gotten used to the blur.

“Here.” James said, holding up a piece of paper. “You call me if you need someone to throw a punch or two, kay?”

“Okay.” Quinton managed to breath.

His heart was failing. James was way too close, and he was giving him his fucking number. He tried to remember he was not a 13-year-old girl and gathered all the strength he was capable of to ask James to leave – even if he wanted nothing more than to stare at him for the rest of the day.

“I need to rest.” He justified.

“Sure. Bye, then.” James concluded with a smile. “Q.”

James left the room, and “Q” had to catch the back of a chair to hold himself up. How did you get yourself so worked up over one person? He wondered. How do you fall so deeply in love with someone you’ve never met that your heart can’t remember where it’s supposed to be and what it’s supposed to do in your chest once you get to talk to him?

And when did getting almost raped become a good thing? Quinton had a creepy, really creepy wish forming in his mind, to see the guy again, just so he would have a good reason to call James. He was willing to be assaulted again if it meant James would come to the rescue.

“I’m not normal.” He muttered to himself.

Not that any of the Holmes brothers had ever claimed to be. But sometimes, just sometimes, he wanted to stop being proud of that, and fit in a little bit more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest we all love big-brother Sherlock

Sherlock found his little brother in his room when he came back from class. He immediately took in the cut on his lip and the bruises on his neck, and dropped his bag on the floor to rush to him, cupping his face between his hands.

“What happened?” He asked sharply, after he was satisfied that there was nothing more serious to be noticed.

There was no point in lying to Sherlock, he always found out the truth anyway, whether you bothered to elaborate a story or not.

“I went dancing.” Quinton answered. “Someone liked it a little bit too much, got his hands on me, and...”

He pursed his lips. Sherlock’s eyes widened in horror.

“He didn’t...go all the way.” Quinn specified quickly.

Sherlock raised a sceptic brow.

“Don’t tell me you were able to fight him off? Considering the size of his handprint on your neck, I’d say he was a pretty large bloke.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Quinton winced. “But you’re right anyway. That’s the other thing.” He cleared his throat. “James Bond saved me.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up again.

“As in, James Bond?”

“There aren’t exactly fifty of him.” Quinn snapped. “Anyway, so much from getting my mind off him. He even came to check on me this morning.”

He was scrupulously looking at the floor, and Sherlock caught himself thinking he was cute. It reminded him of the days, back when they were kids, when he ostensibly adored his little brother, who would cling to his neck and tell him everything about what he was thinking and feeling. It hadn’t happened for a long while, though.

“Why are you telling me?” He asked.

“I’d rather tell you than have you deduce me.” Quinn answered. “You’re a maniac.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock said without irony, for what was really behind the insult.

He was still a kid after all, who needed the slim comfort his brother could give him by just being there and listening for a couple of minutes. Sherlock wasn’t one to let carried away by sentimentalism, however.

“Your obsession for this guy is still absolutely ridiculous.” He said next.

“Yes, I know.” Quinton admitted. “But I’m afraid it’s non-negotiable.”

“Well, I always knew better than to argue with you. What’s your plan?”

“What?”

“Come on Quinn, I know you. You could never sit still for more than a minute, and whenever you have ever wanted something, you got it.”

Quinton winced and sighed at the same time.

“It’s a _person_ we’re talking about, Sherlock. He’s not a piece of software I can hack my way into.”

Unfortunately, he completed mentally. Life would be so much easier if everything was lines of computer codes.

“How do you do it?” He asked suddenly.

Sherlock, who had started losing interest in the conversation, turned back from his whiteboard to his little brother.

“Do what?”

“Not have a heart.” Quinton said.

It wasn’t meant in a negative way – Sherlock, twisted as he was, could even take it as a compliment.

“It looks so much easier.” Quinn justified.

“It is.” Sherlock confirmed. “But I’m me. Your heart is the best part about you, Quinny. It’s what singles you out in our family of misfits. You’re probably the only Holmes who has a chance at a normal life.”

“If normal includes being head over heels for a guy like James Bond.” Quinton commented sadly.

“Of course it does.” Sherlock resolved.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A longer update :) because the previous one was really short.  
> In which John Watson appears.

He went back to the campus nightclub on the Sunday. He had been draping a scarf around his neck for two days to avoid questions, pretending he had bit into his own lip falling down. One day of skipping classes and one day of letting them bore him to death were far enough to see him over the events of the other night. He wanted to dance again. He needed to see James again.

It was always much quieter on a Sunday, but there was always someone, always a group of friends taking possession of the DJ console and throwing their own party, always a few dazed students who needed a drink after a weekend exhausting themselves on essays or the like.

James was usually there, meeting a friend – Quinton didn’t know what he was doing with his life, but he wasn’t from the same college. It seemed like a tradition of theirs to see each other on a Sunday night, which made Quinn unbelievably jealous. He was probably a little more masochistic than was strictly healthy for coming back, still, every single Sunday, and watch them drink and talk, all smiles and laughs and warm looks.

Quinn couldn’t help himself from going, although he was a bit worried, now that James had registered his existence, that he would realize what a stalker he was. Luckily, when he arrived at the bar, there were two of his friends there, and he joined them as if he had always planned to meet them here. He carefully positioned himself so he could stare at James without acting rude to them.

He got profoundly distracted from the conversation, however, when James, laughing, gave his friend a teasing shove and his hand lingered longer than required on the guy’s shoulder. His traitorous heart started hammering in his chest as mixed feelings clashed and quarrelled. One, James who was such a ladies-man, could actually show this kind of affection towards a guy, so Quinn had his chances, right? It could be him. Two – it wasn’t him.

He excused himself to his friends and ran to the bathroom, trying really hard to breathe steadily. He couldn’t do it anymore. For the first time since he had met James Bond, he wasn’t just love-struck like an idiot, he was getting angry. Now that James had noticed him, talked to him, _touched_ him, even if those circumstances, even just this once, he couldn’t just stay on the side any longer. It wasn’t enough. He kicked a wall in frustration. He was sick and tired to be this emotional train-wreck. He needed something to hack.

He bumped into James on his way out, naturally. He wasn’t sure what game the universe was playing, but he sure wasn’t in the pleasant phase yet if there was to be one. His anger melted faster than an ice-cube in a fireplace – he should know, they had run experiments with Sherlock when they were about five and eight years old.

“Sorry.” He said, managing not to sound too dumb.

“You again.” James smiled – oh, that smile.

“Hi.” Quinn winced. “I was leaving.”

“Nonsense.” James opposed. “Come have a drink with us. You must be used to be bought drinks.”

Quinton felt the blood leave his face. What would he say that? Did he think he was the local slut?

“I didn’t mean it like that.” James said, amused, as if he had read his thoughts. “It’s just that you are under the legal age to buy your own.”

“Oh.” He wished he would stop dwelling on his age. “I nicked my brother’s card a long time ago.”

James led him back to the corner in which his friend waited. The guy smiled and Quinn wished he would catch fire or something so he could be alone with James.

“Q,” James said, always in that slightly mocking tone, “this is my friend John Watson. John, Quentin.”

“Quinton.” Quinn rectified, hating his sensibility for being hurt.

“Quinton?” John repeated. “It’s a bit unusual.”

“Oh, I got off easy.” Quinn smiled. “You should meet my brothers. People call me Quinn anyway.”

James made him sit, and went off towards the bar to get more drinks. John seemed to wait for him to come back before he asked the next question.

“Why, how are they called?”

“Mycroft.” Quinn informed reluctantly. “And Sherlock.”

“Oh.” James suddenly realized. “Sherlock Holmes is your brother?

Here we go again, Quinn thought sourly. There was never anyone who didn’t know him as either of the older Holmes’s _little brother_. Because he was in love though, he couldn’t help but notice James had not used the usual and more reductive phrasing “You are Sherlock Holmes’s brother”.

“Why?” John asked. “Who is he?”

“I’d told you about him.” James reminded him. “He’s in Anthropology, and once he wasn’t paying attention in one of his classes, so the teacher thought to pick on him by asking If he was so smart maybe he wanted to give the class in his place? The guy actually got up and gave a brilliant lecture. From what I’ve heard even the teacher gave up trying to stop him after a minute and just listened to him completely dumbfounded.”

“Yeah,” Quinn commented, hoping they would change the subject after that. “I don’t know what he’s doing here.”

“What are you doing here?” John asked. “I mean, what are you studying?”

“IT.” Quinn notified. “I’m not sure I’m learning much either.”

He didn’t want to sound like a show-off, it was just the truth. He outsmarted most of his teachers and certainly all of his classmates. He was two years old when he was given a toy “My first computer”, and about seven when no simple password or pin code was safe with him. By sixteen, there was little he couldn’t do with a computer.

“How about you?” He asked back, not wanting to linger on it.

He was very uncomfortable sitting so close to James and having to make small talk with his friend while _he_ watched with a faint smile. And his eyes were way too blue for his own good.

“Medical school.” John said. “Well, more precisely studying to be an army doctor.”

“I might join the army next year.” James inputted. “Law? Really boring.”

“You could have realized that three years ago.” John laughed.

Quinn was not laughing. The simple idea of James leaving made his blood run cold. He had never imagined there would be a time when he wasn’t able to see his face every day. He considered joining too, for a moment, but he was too young. He wanted to say _Don’t go_. He wanted to say _I will wait for you, I will find you, and I will follow you to the end of the world_. He downed his drink instead.

“Hey.” He heard James say. “Easy. Getting drunk mostly brings trouble, you should know.”

Quinton almost coughed up the last gulp. The alcohol went down the wrong pipe and burned the back of his throat – a painful reminder that yes, he was still sore from being strangled and played with last time he went drinking, not that he needed it now thanks to James, for fuck’s sake, did he really have to say that?

“I’m sorry.” James caught himself. “I didn’t mean...sorry.”

“What happened?” John asked carefully.

“Nothing.” Quinn said quickly, cutting short anything James might have wanted to say.

He got up, muttered some “Thanks for the drink” and started leaving.

“Q, wait, I-”

“And stop calling me that!” Quinn snapped, before he basically ran away.

He ran, welcoming the physical effort that stopped him from thinking, until he reached his dorm and was able to close a number of doors between James and him. Then he let himself fall to pieces, crumbling against the wall and down to the floor, curling there with his head in his hands.

What on Earth was wrong with him? He could never hope for anything to happen between him and James, and the only thing he _had_ was him calling him Q as if there were friends. He loved it, more than any nickname anyone had ever given him. And he was throwing it away.

He wanted to run back, lock his arms around James’s neck and ask for forgiveness. But he had to stop making a fool of himself. Never in his life had he been less able to keep his head cool. It was very confusing not be able to rely on the simple logic of his brain. _Think,_ he mentally hissed at himself. He had to make it up to James – maybe the guy didn’t care, but Quinn did. But he had to be inconspicuous, because James really couldn’t find out about his stupid feelings.

Right then, he thought. How would I make it up to one of my brothers? As much as it made him wince to even begin to consider James as a brother, thinking about Mycroft and/or Sherlock was by far the best way to clear his mind. With them, everything was down to straight lines and lucid ideas. At least he owed them that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn is a stalker but it's not creepy (is it?)

He caught James at the end of an International Law class – he tried his best to make it look like it was random and he hadn’t actually hacked into his intranet account to check his timetable. He did not approach James’s group of (mostly female) friends but signalled him from a distance when he looked his way. Thankfully for his pride and racing heart, James headed over.

“Hi.” He said with a hesitant smile.

“Hello.” Quinn answered.

He produced a small package out of his bag, wrapped soberly in brown paper.

“Here.” He handed it to James. “This is a thank you and a sorry. I like Q.”

James smiled more forthrightly, and Quinn felt so warm inside he was fairly convinced there wasn't one spot of his skin that wasn't flushed. His body betrayed him whatever his brain decided, apparently.

"Wow." James had opened the packet. "This is nice."

Inside was a beautiful, hardback edition of _Typhoon._ James admired the cover for a moment, flipped through the pages, and then shot Quinton a slightly suspicious look.

"How did you know I liked Conrad?"

"I..."

Have been watching you so intensely I saw you reading _Heart of Darkness_ and carrying _Youth_ with your schoolbooks.

"Lucky guess." He finished very unconvincingly.

James wasn’t fooled, by the look of it. He smiled half-mockingly.

“Well.” He said. “Spot on. Thank you. Have you read it?”

“Yes.” Quinn nodded.

When I was twelve, he didn’t add.

“My father had quite the library.” He said instead. “I’ve always liked reading, even though I’m a computer boy.”

“Those are not incompatible.” James noted.

“I know.”

James looked like he wanted to say something, but his name was called from a few meters back. The girls were getting impatient.

“They’re waiting for me to go to lunch.” James explained.

“It’s okay, I have a class in five minutes.” Quinn pretended, before James would feel forced to politely invite him to join them or something. “Again, sorry for the other night. And, thank you, for the other, other night.”

He felt blood rush to his face and cursed his thin, pale skin, because it most certainly showed.

“And sorry for what I said.” James answered with a smile. “And thank you for this. See you around, Q.”

He darted off back to his group, and Quinn imagined more than heard the jokes they threw his way in curiosity. He heard though, clear as a bell, James’s answer.

“He’s a friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have heaps of work. Updates might become a little slower now the holidays are over.
> 
> I will start posting the James and the Sherlock points of view on this series, though :) I have a bit of each already written (yeah I have like four different WIP at the time what am I doing I have a thesis to write). 
> 
> This one is the main story though, so the others will be shorter I think.
> 
> I am also taking suggestions, if you want to see something specific happen in the following chapters (of an unknown number...)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very small chapter ^^" more of a transition really. I'll try to post the next this week-end. (if not that, one in another part of the series at least)

Sherlock had not seen such panic in Quinn's eyes since he had broken mummy's favourite mantelpiece vase when he was six.

“What do I do?” The little brother freaked for the umpteenth time.

“How should I know.” Sherlock sighed, because he had decided to ignore him only three times out of four.

“And how did he even get my number?” Quinton wondered.

His brother welcomed this small sign of brain activity.

“I'm assuming he only had to ask one of your friends.” He provided. “Maybe that's what Romola wanted to tell you when you ignored her call.”

“You think?” Quinton asked sincerely.

“I don't know.” Sherlock emphasized again.

The younger Holmes looked at his phone once more, on which screen the text seemed to scream at him. _Giving a party at my place tomorrow night. Would like it if you came - unless of course you prefer drinking illegally in college bars. James B._

“Just fucking stop pretending you're considering not going.” Sherlock snapped from the chemistry experiment he was back on. “Man up a little, Quinton Holmes. You want that guy, go get him.”

Quinn looked at him with the same puppy eyes he had made when he had to apologise to mummy about the vase, and wanted Sherlock to come with him for support. Sherlock rolled his eyes, showing he had gotten the drift.

“You'll keep my head cool” His little brother pleaded. “You always do.”

“Me at a party Quinn, really?”

“I'm not even asking you to be social. But I need a countenance. Please, Locky.”

Sherlock couldn't stop an affectionate smirk. That nickname only ever appeared in times of dire need. Quinn was very aware it was emotional blackmail he was trying now, but Sherlock did always have a soft spot for him.

“You really are hopeless.” He said. “Fine, I'll cut you a deal.”

“Really?!” Quinn rejoiced. “Wait.” He caught himself. “What's the deal?”

“I’ll come with you,” Sherlock said, “but you stop acting like a schoolgirl. Get a few drinks in yourself if it helps, but if you leave that party without having stuck your tongue in Bond's stupid mouth, I will tell Mycroft about what happened to you the other night and he will ship you to a private university at the other end of the country to protect you. You know he will.”

Quinton felt himself grow pale.

“You wouldn't do that.” At least he hoped so.

“I'm tired of your lovesick persona, so act up. It shouldn't be too hard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: being socially gifted as he is, Sherlock has absolutely no idea how to deal with his little brother - generally speaking, and even more so since he was assaulted. I think he's pushing him towards James now because, sure, it bumps him that he gave up without trying, but also and mostly because he is scared and he believes James will be more able to protect Quinn than he is (which is sweet and a little bit sad)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's pa-aa-arty time! (sorry)  
> Also, fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy the longer update!

Quinn was so nervous his face was completely blank. He almost needed Sherlock to pilot him as they reached the right building, the right door, and came into a crowd of people. As any Holmes, he wasn’t much one for large parties to begin with, and even less when he actually cared not to be taken for a complete sociopath (something which Sherlock was, on the contrary, perfectly comfortable with).

He needed an anchor, and it took him a little while to spot James; but when he did, all anxiety vanished without a trace. If only he could take Sherlock to his word, walk up to him right away and kiss him hello.

Suddenly, it became his new goal in life. His brother was right; it was time to stand up for himself and get what he wanted. He made a promise to the universe that he _would_ be entitled to kiss James hello before long. Before the end of the night if possible.

They met midway in the room – which was still just as crowded, but they didn't count. Even if Quinn would have ten times over preferred to be alone with James, regretting even bringing Sherlock, towards whom James briefly nodded.

“Good evening.” He then said with a smile directed towards Quinn this time. And with that smile, the last of those regrets vanished.

“Hi.” Quinton greeted back. “This is my brother Sherlock. Thanks for inviting us.”

He had answered the text earlier, asking if he could bring him, to which James had naturally agreed. Making the invitation plural helped Quinn maintain a distance – and keep his heart beating at a more or less normal pace.

“I'd say you have a nice place,” he added to get the formalities over with, “but I can't really make it out right now. You have a lot of friends.”

So much for leaving the regrets out of it. He could almost hear Sherlock think – _Christ's sake, Quinton_. Even if he had meant it as a joke, it had come out sounding rather urgent, as if Quinn's inner subtitles were "Kick them out already".

“Get me a drink?” He ventured, trying to lift up the threatening awkwardness.

“Sure.” James said.

He didn't make it to the improvised bar though, hogged by his other guests, heeding everyone like the perfect host – he probably wouldn't be back before an hour or two, at this rate. Quinton watched him get swallowed with a tug to his heart, but he couldn’t exactly follow him like a well-trained dog and cling to him all night. Sherlock having vanished from his side, he resolved to socialize.

He didn't have to try too hard, as a girl came up to him within a minute or so. He recognized her for having seen her around James several times. She was tall – taller than him – with milk-chocolate skin and wide, inquisitive eyes.

“Hey there.” She startled him. “I'm Eve.”

“Hey.” Quinn answered. “I’m Quinton. Quinn.”

She smiled.

“So. What kind of mystery are you?”

“I'm sorry?”

“You're sixteen, premature BA student from what I gathered, in IT with that.” She stated, and went on explaining: “There was no visible reason for James to meet you, let alone befriend you. So what's the story?”

Quinn had efficiently switched into Holmes-mode and didn't even let his mind drift to the actual circumstances of their meeting.

“We just, met.” He told Eve. “At the pub. Things like that tend to happen when you go there as often as James does.”

“Fair enough.” She laughed.

She looked like she wanted to add something, but she didn't. Another girl and a guy got stranded their way and joined – brought – the conversation, and they moved on to a best-of of the weirdness of their various teachers and other things. Quinton found that enjoyable, as a surprise to himself. He wouldn't have, actually, had Eve not been constantly prompting him back into the fun of the conversation. She seemed to be undertaking the mission to have him not feel excluded – which, to be honest, had been the default setting of most social situations he had been in.

When James got back to him (by which time a few drinks had found their way into his hands without the blonde's help), he could fairly say he felt his friends – more of which had joined the little group – had adopted him. Some of them had approached him with suspicion, but soon his physical age had not mattered because he was more than able to keep up, with the embarrassing exceptions of some sexual jokes he didn’t quite know how to respond to. They didn’t seem to notice.

They were already inviting him, actually, to an escapade to the seaside the following weekend. James showed up at this point in the conversation.

“You should come!” A guy named Robert was offering, having just explained how they had this little trip all planned and it was going to be so much fun.

“Who should come where?” James crashed in, self-entitled to monitor anything that was being said in his flat.

“Qui-Gon Jinn should come with us to the beach next week. He says he has never eaten mussels.”

“I’m allergic to seafood.” Quinn defended, half laughing at the appearance of the merely phonetically justified Star Wars nickname. “At least I was when I was nine, and since it got me into a hospital I have to say I never tried again.”

“I thought we weren’t accepting any more people.” James said. He sounded slightly annoyed. “That’s what you said when Meryl asked if she could come.”

“Yes.” Robert answered, deadpan. “That’s because I don’t like her. But we all like Quid-pro-quo. Don’t we James.”

“That’s Robbie for you.” James turned to Quinn. “Anyone I smile to, he thinks...”

He stopped, and Quinton hoped it wasn’t because of the face he was sure he was pulling. He didn’t want to hear James deny he liked him, even if he didn’t like him, at least not the way he wished he would like him. His heart rate was picking up. Again.

“Geez, James.” Robbie sighed. “You managed to turn a joke into something mean.”

“I didn’t mean to be mean.” James said confusedly. “I was just saying, you were inferring, I was just...”

“It was a _joke.”_ Robert repeated. “You bring us a new friend if I can’t joke about why-”

“There isn’t always a why!” James snapped.

But of course there was. Which brought Quinton back exactly to _why,_ precisely, he was even here. He was just the poor kid who was in danger if he walked home alone at night. It was only a conscience thing, wasn’t it? James had said it himself. He didn’t want to feel responsible, so instead he charitably...

“Guys.”

Eve’s sharp tone put an end to his thought as well as to James’s and Robert’s ongoing argument. She was looking at him, her eyes showing her worry.

“You’re white as a sheet.” She said. “Come.”

She pulled him away from the group and from the crowd, finding a calmer spot near a window she cracked open. He welcomed the fresh air, only realizing by contrast that the room was really stuffy.

“He can have this effect on people.” Eve spoke carefully, as if she was testing something.

Quinton winced.

“Am I that obvious?”

“I can’t say your poker face is the best I’ve seen.” Eve confessed.

They let a moment pass in silence, Quinn not daring to ask if she knew what James thought of him.

“What’s the story?” Eve eventually asked softly.

Quinn sighed. He was never going to be able to forget, was he?

“James got me out of trouble a few weeks back.” He said. Better not go into details. “I think he feels responsible for me now...”

“That sounds like him.” Eve commented.

“I’m gonna go.” The young Holmes decided. “Tell James not to worry about the seaside, I won’t come.”

“You’re gonna stay.” Eve countered. “And relax. Rob was right, we all like you. You’re a witty, lively, and really truly adorable kid.”

“Stop calling me a kid.” Quinn told her off.

“Kid.” Eve repeated, for the sake of it, white teeth flashing. “Don’t over think and analyse ever word that comes out of James mouth. He never calls someone his friend offhandedly. That should be all you need to know.”

\--

After a couple of hours really having a nice time with James and his friends, Quinton suddenly remembered Sherlock. Where had _he_ gone off to? Normally – not that Sherlock being at a party in the first place was normal – Quinn would have expected him to be long gone, but since he had sworn to see his little brother kiss James Bond before the end of the night, he wouldn’t have just left, would he? As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Quinn very much wanted Sherlock to be here, looking at him, so he would have a good reason to actually close the distance between James and him and lick a way into his mouth.

“You’re all flushed.” Someone pointed out – more that probably Robbie. “Have you had too much to drink?”

“No. Maybe. I think I’m about to do something stupid. Where is my brother?”

“What degree of stupid?” Rob asked – and everyone is the small circle had turned to him.

Including James, and his vibrant blue eyes were more than Quinn could take. Well. If Sherlock didn’t actually see it, he would certainly hear about it.  
He stepped over the space keeping him from James, cupped his face to haul himself up on tip-toe, and pressed his lips to his.

James jumped, his hands clasped around Quinn’s shoulders as if he was going to push him away, but he kissed him back. For a start. Then he did push him away, but to be fair, people were staring and their jaws were on the floor. James himself looked rather taken aback.

“Wh- y- wow.” He stammered. “What was that?”

Quinn frowned slightly.

“A kiss?” He teased.

“Can I talk to you?”

He closed a hand around his elbow and pulled him away from the crowd, into the kitchen where they found Sherlock and John carrying on whatever conversation over a bottle of wine.

“Out.” James ordered.

Apparently, John knew not to argue with that tone. Quinn caught Sherlock’s inquisitive look, but his brother followed nonetheless after his apparently newfound friend.

“You don’t owe me anything.” James stated once they were alone.

Quinn wasn’t expecting something quite along those lines.

“What?”

James sighed, apparently looking for the right words.

“What I did the other night... I would have done so for anyone. I mean, anyone would have. It was a completely normal reaction. I know you might feel-”

“James.” Quinn cut him short, sending a shiver down his own spine. It was the first time he had used his name to actually address him. “Where are you going with that?”

“I know I’ve been the one not leaving you alone.” James said. “But don’t think it’s because I expect something in return or your infinite gratitude or-”

“You think I kissed you because I feel grateful?” Quinn interrupted him again. “Don’t get me wrong, I do feel grateful, but this is ridiculous. And a little offensive, for both of us. I don’t have a crush on you because you saved me.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“I knew you before.” Quinn said, feeling himself unable to stop. He was about to confess and he was unable to stop. “I noticed you the first week I came here. I fell in love with you the first week I came here.”

There it was. Out in the open, impossible to take back. James just blinked.

“You-”

“I love you.” Quinn asserted. “And I know it sounds absurd, because I had never spoken to you before _that night_ and even since then we haven’t really become close, but I love you. I just know it.”

He was certain his heart had stopped beating. It was probably waiting for James’s answer to decide whether to go on or just break. Meanwhile, his chest was tight, and it hurt like fuck. So far, he had to grant that to Sherlock, he positively hated being in love.

“Okay.” James finally said.

Quinn’s heart did a back flip. But that wasn’t an answer.

 _“Okay?”_ He repeated.

“Let’s date.” James said casually.

Quinton stared at him, not quite able to make sense of the words. It seemed the whole scene had turned to a parallel reality he wasn’t part of.

“Are you kidding me here?” He chose to get angry, because all this confusion really strained him. “Don’t just...humour me!”

James stepped forward and locked his arms around Quinn, joined hands resting in the small of his back. Quinn had to repress almost violently an urge to climb him like a tree.

“I have been obsessed with you ever since I met you.” James said. “And I didn’t want to acknowledge it, but here you are telling me you love me. It’s a little too good to pass on.”

With that, he leaned in and kissed him. Quinn wanted body and soul to lose himself in that kiss, but he pulled back a little.

“Wait.” He had to make things clear. “I- You have- What do you mean obsessed?”

“What do you think?” James smiled.

“I thought...I thought you were just watching out for me because...because of your friend.” He finished awkwardly.

He couldn’t believe he was bringing that up when he was pressed against James, whose one current idea was to kiss him. But he knew – as much as his brained tended to switch off around James – he knew it would only hurt a whole lot more later if he got carried away and let things get out of hand.

“What?” James reacted. “That’s about as stupid as when I thought... Actually, yes.” He corrected himself. “It probably looked like that. Of course what you couldn’t see is that I haven’t been able to keep you out of my mind for weeks, wake of sleep.”

He wasn’t smiling, and there was nothing but honesty in his eyes. This time, Q let the rest of his anxiety fly away and grinned widely.

“Oh.” He asked cockily. “Did you have that kind of dreams about me?”

“Shut up.” James answered.

He kissed him again.

“However.” He said when he pulled back. “I have to be honest with you.”

“Please be.” Quinn prompted.

This phrasing was always worrying, but he was on a high right now and it would take more than that to bring him down.

“I can’t say I’m as certain as you are about my feelings. I want you to be my boyfriend.” (Quinton shuddered at the use of the word.) “But I don’t 'just know' that I’ve found my soul mate in you. It sounds a little bit too...too much not like me.”

“I get that.” The younger boy said. “I’m not claiming anything.”

“Like hell you aren’t.” James retorted; and kissed him once more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit bothered that Q more often than not appears confused or scared or even weak in this story, but let's be honest, he's sixteen and he's not going to keep it strong and cool if he's being attacked... Hope that doesn't make him too OOC anyway (but there's not that much canon to draw from just from Skyfall, so.)

Two days. Quinton had tried not to count the hours – it was 37 hours and 25 minutes – but it had roughly been two days that he was officially James’s boyfriend. They hadn’t seen each other on the Sunday because James had an essay due the week before, and they had agreed to give each other a day to think about their new relationship with a cool head. Quinn, on his part, knew there was no chance he was going to change his mind, but James had seemed like he needed to weigh the pros and cons and make sure he was sure. The young Holmes was rewarded on Sunday late afternoon by a text along the lines of “ _Better be ready for me to take you on a proper date sometime this week_ ”. Part of Quinn would have been satisfied going straight to bed as soon as the Saturday night – when Sherlock had reasonably dragged him out at three in the morning when James had had to stop kissing him to see his guests out – but a proper date was an appealing idea too, even if it meant he had to wait a couple more days.

James, nonetheless, more than compensated for the delay with the kiss he gave Quinn when he next saw him, Monday at lunch, right in the middle of the cafeteria as Quinton was about to sit somewhere and eat with his friends. There was a fleeting moment of silence, elegantly broken by Romola.

“What the fuck!”

Quinton turned to the group, readjusting the glasses askew on his face and completely unable to suppress a blissful grin.

“Oh yeah, guys, I forgot to tell you.” He beamed. “This is James, we’re together.”

“What do you mean you’re fucking together?” Romola reacted.

For a girl with such a pretty and innocent round face, there sure was a lot of insanity coming out of her mouth. You got used to it.

“He’s my boyfriend.” Quinn said, revelling in the word. He was sure he was grinning like an idiot.

“Yes, I know what _together_ fucking means. Since fucking when?”

Quinn frowned slightly, wondering if Romola was just in shock or actually angry at him for some reason. Jamie, next to her, laid a hand on her arm.

“Calm down, Rom. Don’t ruin the first smile on Quinn’s face since last month. Besides, you owe me twenty quid.”

“Why?” Quinton laughed.

“She didn’t want to believe me that you were gay.” Jamie smiled. “Anyway, good for you mate.” He leaned in closer so James wouldn’t hear him. “Nice catch, this one.”

They sat together for lunch, Romola and Jamie both quickly warming to James. They were joined midway by Eve and Robert, who delighted Quinn’s friends with the story of how he had dared to do what everyone else only dreamed of – namely, stop thinking and just kiss James.

“Now you can all keep dreaming.” The young Holmes said. “Because I’m not letting anyone else kiss my boyfriend.”

This said, he kissed James himself and got up. They all had almost finished eating.

“I’ll run to the bathroom.” He announced. “I’ll meet you outside.”

He didn’t know about James, but he well intended to find a quiet corner and use the remaining twenty minutes before his next class for the sole purpose of making out.

He was washing his hands when the syrupy voice spoke from behind him.

“You look good.”

He jumped and turned brutally, splashing water around him, already sure who this voice belonged to. The guy didn’t move, watching Quinn with a smug smile, leaning casually against the door – but effectively blocking the way out. Everything about him was slick; his white jacket contrasting with black jeans, his blond hair combed back, his shiny shoes – he looked more like an ambitious CEO than a student.

“Stay the hell away from me.” Quinn tried.

“So aggressive.” The other one said with fake sadness. “You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” The younger boy repeated, trying to get angry to avoid being scared. “Thanking you for what, you sick bastard?”

“Now, now, let’s stay civil.” He extended a hand. “My name is Raul Silva, nice to meet you, Quinton Holmes.” He only waited two seconds for Quinn not to take his hand. “Fine. Well, you have done well for yourself, since we first...got in _touch.”_ He smirked. Quinn tensed, but he didn’t speak, so Silva went on. “James Bond, uh? Do you think you would have him now if I hadn’t given you that little push?”

He took one step forward, and Quinton forced himself not to take a step back.

“Go fuck yourself.” He snarled, trying to calculate if he could try to run for it. But the other guy was still very much an obstacle.

“I’d rather fuck _you.”_ Said obstacle answered.

He took another step, and Quinn did make a run for it, but in the opposing direction, managing to lock himself into one of the cubicles before Silva could grab him. Of course he had left his phone in his bag and his bag with James. The fear was starting to kick in. Silva’s shiny shoe appeared through the gap beneath the door.

“Don’t be silly.” He said in a smooth voice. “How long do you think it would take me to break this door down?”

Quinton wanted to call for help, he wanted to scream, but his throat was tight, and he knew he’d break down in tears of panic if he unclenched his teeth.

“I have no interest in hurting you.” Silva spoke again. “But I will if I have to. So let me offer you a choice.”

He pushed on the door, clearly showing that it would not hold fast against a stronger shove.

“You can come out,” Silva said, “and give me a nice civilised blowjob. Or I can kick this door open, gag you, bend you over the toilet bowl and fuck you till you break. Your call.”

“Leave me alone.” Quinn answered in little more than a whisper. “Why can’t you just leave me alone...”

Silva laughed the other side of the door.

“You are a little too good to pass on, angel.”

Quinn shuddered. _It’s a little too good to pass on_. This asshole was even robbing him of James’s words, turning them into dirty, rotten things. _I have been obsessed with you ever since I met you_. Silva too was obsessed with him, quite obviously. _But here you are telling me you love me_. Was the only difference between James and Silva the simple fact that Q loved one and not the other – and that James had not tried to force him? He was going to be sick.

Silva gave the door a sudden punch and the whole cubicle quaked, making Quinn jump.

“You have ten seconds.”

He started counting down, and Quinton could only press himself flat against the wall and pray. At ‘four’, providence answered. The boy heard the men’s door open, Silva taking a step back, other footsteps. Then a single tap on the door – “ _Catch you later_.”

He walked away. Quinn wasn’t breathing just yet, not sure he could trust his luck. He stepped out of the cubicle when he heard the other random guy open the door to get out, almost running after him to make sure he wouldn’t find himself alone in there again, with or without Silva lurking around.

Once he was in a more passing corridor, he allowed his legs to fail him and had to sit against a wall to gather himself. He was feeling the harbingers of a panic attack. A girl stopped at his level, asked him if he needed some help – Quinn managed to raise his head and give her a faint smile.

“Could you get James Bond?” He asked her. “Tall, blond guy, he should be waiting with a group of people in front of the cafeteria. Please.”

“Sure.” She nodded.

She ran off, and soon returned with James, who crouched next to him with a concerned look on his face.

“Are you okay?” He asked, resting a hand on his forehead as if to check his temperature.

“Silva.” Quinn said faintly. “His name is Raul Silva.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to fight back

“Is that it? They’re just not going to do anything?”

Quinn had never seen James like this. Anger didn’t begin to cover it; it was white hot rage, and Q was glad not to be its recipient. There was something lethal in James’s clenched jaw, his icy eyes, his tight fists. Quinton thought he was going to break something. Possibly someone’s bones.

“I reported him.” He told him carefully. “They heeded me, but they clearly didn’t believe me.”

He found himself very able to stay calm, although he was sure Silva being at large with impunity should scare him stiff. But as much as it terrified him that the man could attack him again, right now he was even more afraid of James. He had the new, clear feeling that his charming and sexy boyfriend was in fact able to kill.

“He’s a straight-A student.” Quinton kept explaining in the most appeasing voice he could manage. “Top of his class in every subject, member of a number of school committees and I don’t know what more, never caused any problems – fuck, he’s even tutoring BA students who all sing his praises. Of course they wouldn’t believe me.”

“Why would you invent something like that?” James commented.

The scariest thing about James right now was the lack of visible emotion. He wasn’t raising his voice, he wasn’t stomping or punching anything. You could guess he was on edge, but that was about it. Anyone dropping in now would believe him almost indifferent if they only paid attention to the most obvious displays of mood. Q knew he wasn’t, though. He could see pure wrath in every inch of him.

“I will kill him.” James noted precisely, still in this misleading neutral tone.

“No, you won’t.” Quinn countered. “You’re not going after him. He’s vicious, he’s older and larger than you. No.”

“You think I couldn’t take him?”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Quinn said in a final tone, hating the challenging and – he didn’t even want to say it – almost amused intonations in James’s voice.

“He’ll be coming back for you.” James justified.

“And you think trying to bash his head in is going to help my case?”

He wanted to claim he didn’t need James to protect him, but he was afraid it was too blatant a self-delusion. However, he didn’t see how it would help if James either got himself hurt, or, if he could indeed do more damage than was done to him, got himself expelled for beating another student to a pulp. Especially given the high regard in which the professorial body seemed to hold Silva.

“So what?” James asked. “What do you plan on doing, uh?”

“Well, I have you as a bodyguard.” Quinton said half-bitterly. He had thought about it, and the sad truth was he didn’t stand a chance on his own. “Jamie is in all my classes, for when you can’t be around.”

Jamie wasn’t exactly the muscle man, but it was better than nothing.

“I told him and Romola about...what happened.” Q confessed, looking down. “You can be sure they’re not going to let me out of their sight.”

“What about at night?” James asked.

Quinn could see he was beginning to relax, and anger was once again being replaced by worry.

“I have a roommate.” He reminded him. “I’m not telling _him,_ but it means I won’t be alone. Ever, apparently.”

He tried not to be too sour about it. Safety first, of course, but still, the new arrangements did not comply with his reserved and independent personality.

“James.” He said in sudden inspiration. “What is the university policy on use of electronic resources?”

James frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“What kind of inappropriate content would get someone expelled?”

“Anything illegal, I guess.” James said, still frowning. “I’m not sure I like where this conversation is heading. What do you have in mind?”

“Say Silva uses his university account on a university computer to, I don’t know. Watch porn involving anything but consenting adults. They would spot that on their server. Would that be enough to get him kicked out or would it need to be drugs, or...?”

“Q.” James said carefully, looking suddenly unsure of the boy’s sanity. “The fact that he’s trying to get his hands on you doesn’t mean he’s looking at child pornography on public computers.”

“Who said he had to?”

James looked confused again. Quinn didn’t know if his brain couldn’t follow or if he just didn’t want to try to understand.

“I can hack him.” He said. “I can even do that while he’s actually using a computer so he’s not going to have an alibi. Don’t look at me like that, it’s not like it’s dangerous, I wouldn’t do anything of the sort if I couldn’t make it completely untraceable. Trust me. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s this.”

“It still doesn’t sound promising.” James doubted. “Why would he even be so stupid as to use a university computer to watch his filth?”

“Most people do. The Wi-Fi is the dorms is worthless, the connection is a lot better in the library – you should see the silent study rooms late at night. They think they can hide what they’re doing by activating InPrivate Browsing. They’re not told off because it’s innocent free porn, but what if it wasn’t? One little slip, but serious enough that they’ll investigate, check his Internet history on his own computer, which I can easily make to look very bad.”

“Quinn...”

“Untraceable.” Quinn repeated.

But it wasn’t worry James’s face was showing.

“You don’t think I can do it?” His boyfriend asked, slightly offended.

“Well...”

“James!” Now he was more than slightly offended.

“Come on.” James tried to justify. “I know you outsmart everyone in your class in IT, but you’re still a sixteen year-old with a laptop for all equipment. Cracking a password, why not, but you want to inconspicuously frame him with a whole fake Internet activity? Isn’t that a bit pushing it?”

Quinn remained silent for a moment. He was used to this, people doubting his capacities because of his age. Maybe it was because he was rather discreet about it; Sherlock usually made sure people knew how smart he was, especially compared to themselves (Mycroft, as for him, didn’t care). He couldn’t blame James – after all, he had never given him grounds to believe he was anything but an insecure and vulnerable precocious kid.

“One hundred eighty-seven.” He said eventually, very evenly, as if he was commenting on the weather.

“What?”

“That’s my IQ. At least it was this summer. My brothers and I did a test, for fun.”

“For fun?” James repeated. Q knew he was having trouble coming to grasps with the number.

“Sherlock scored 190.” He went on, ‘annoyingly calm’ as cousins of the Holmes boys had said of them once. “Which I guess his three years seniority account for. Mycroft – well, he was completely off the charts, over 200, but I think he cheated. He designed once of those tests once, so he probably knew exactly what answers to give.”

James laughed – to his credit, he looked amused instead of dumbfounded, which was more like him – even if Quinn found he quite enjoyed being his intellectual superior.

“You family sounds so much fun.” James said. “Invite me to the next Sunday lunch.”

He cringed a little, with sudden awareness of what he had just said.

“Sorry.” He said. “I was joking, I didn’t mean you should introduce me to your parents.”

He cleared his throat, embarrassed. Quinn smiled. He could be cute.

“Seriously though.” James said. “What did your mom feed you boys?”

“I don’t think she could answer you that. She never fed us, the cooks and nannies did.”

Quinton pursed his lips, hearing the bitterness in his own voice. Mother issues now. He really needed James to know that. To his surprise, however, James nodded in understanding.

“Grand old family, uh? Do you also have an enormous dark mansion you hate?”

“Something like that.” Q confirmed with a smile. “Where’s yours?”

“Scotland.” James informed him. “We didn’t have staff, though.”

There were tell-tale signs that he didn’t want to talk about his childhood home any further, but Quinn decided to ignore them; it was good to be able to picture James as someone’s son, it bridged the gap between their ages Q was constantly reminded of.

“Do your parents still live there?” He asked.

“No.” James answered very neutrally. “They passed away when I was eleven.”

Quinn was too mortified to even call himself a jackass internally. He had noticed James’s reluctance, and he had bloody kept going. It was like he was developing a habit of not using his brain in James’s presence.

“Oh.” He breathed. “God, I’m sorry...”

James shrugged.

“It’s okay. You couldn’t have known.”

There seemed to be no appropriate thing to say, so Quinn just stepped forward to lock his arms around James; he rested his head against his shoulder, planted a kiss in the warmth of his neck.

“I love you.”

James kissed him on the forehead.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're an IT specialist, I apologize for any inanities.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is still PG-13.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short updates, I'm trying to keep all three parts of the series going at the same time (and those other WIPs I'm working on I'm a horrible person I can't focus). Glad you enjoy it anyway and thank you for the comments! :)

He decided not to tell Sherlock about Silva. Maybe he would guess – but these days, his mind seemed occupied with something else. Quinn hadn’t been to his room since James’s party, but he would see him across campus, and he looked restless. Quinn knew that look: he had his eye on something, and he wouldn’t get peace until he obtained it. For this sort of things at least, all three Holmes brothers were very much alike. 

Which was why Quinton barely slept for a few days, spending hours on his computer aligning codes and symbols – whether he was planning and preparing Silva’s framing or not, or just testing out various stuff. It calmed him. Of course it wasn’t just about Silva. There also was this conversation he had had with James on the previous Wednesday.

He wouldn’t tell him about framing Silva again until it was ready to be done. So, he steered the conversation towards a different issue instead.

“Hey.” He told James casually. “I don’t have any classes tomorrow. How about that date you promised me?” 

James smiled.

“I did promise you a date.” He acknowledged. “Tonight sounds perfect.”

“Then I could stay at your place.”

It didn’t come out half as casual as Quinn would have wanted to sound. James frowned slightly. Quinn forced out a laugh and tried humour. 

“What, you don’t put out before the third date?”

“I don’t very often go on dates.” James confessed. “But that’s beside the point.”

He had turned very serious, and Quinn wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

“Okay.” He withdrew. “Forget I said anything. You can drive me home like a perfect gentleman.”

He knew he sounded disappointed, and wondered what image it gave of him. But he couldn’t help it now could he? He loved James, he wanted to sleep with him, and it was as simple as that. 

“Q...” James started.

“Forget it.” The younger boy repeated, looking down.

“No, I won’t.” James countered. “Let’s talk about this.”

“Or not?” Quinn said. “If you don’t want to have sex with me, it’s fine, you don’t have to give me reasons.”

And he really didn’t want to hear them, because he knew what they would be. Something about his youth, and possibly the trauma he had suffered with Silva. 

“You’re sixteen.” James said.

“Here we go.” Quinn grumbled. 

“No, Q, I’m serious. You might be intellectually advanced, you’re still a teen, sorry for the term. Your emotions are raw and you’re so, God, you’re so skinny.”

“I’m not made of sugar.” Quinton said resentfully. “Stop acting like I’m going to break any second.”

“I could so easily hurt you.” James whispered, barely audibly. 

Quinn was startled for a second. Suddenly several of the girls he had seen James with flashed in his mind. They were always headstrong, straightforward women. James had never really expressed his protective instincts, before Q. And it terrified him to feel responsible for someone else’s well-being. 

“You wouldn’t.” Quinn said softly.

“You don’t know that.” James sounded frustrated. “It’s easy to get carried away.”

The young Holmes cupped his boyfriend’s face between his palms and looked him straight in the eyes.

“You wouldn’t.” He repeated. 

James smiled faintly, leaning into Quinn’s hands a little.

“Still.” He said eventually. “You’re tiny, and you’re young, and we’ve got time.” He kissed him, and added with a smile: “For at least three dates.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To all of you who especially love the Holmes brothers dynamic :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a timeskip here of a few weeks or so - I have to say I've never been good with timelines. Anyhow, it has been a little while of no Silva and perfect dates, which I didn't think would be excessively interesting to write, this inspired me a lot more :) I like this chapter so I hope you will too!  
> Spoilers for Sherlock's POV, I guess, but that's not written yet haha (except in my head) so well.

It was unusual for Sherlock to show up in Quinn’s room. Partly because he didn’t need to, the younger brother crashing into his once or twice a week (though considerably less since his relationship with James, well, existed) and partly because that Browne kid, Quinn’s roommate, positively worshipped Sherlock and started flailing and being very annoying if his idol even remotely approached his personal space.

Thankfully, that Saturday afternoon, as most students, Browne was out enjoying a weekend away from campus, and Sherlock found his brother alone, lying on his stomach and deeply absorbed in a volume of Edgar A. Poe’s tales. He didn’t raise his head when Sherlock let himself in without knocking.

“Sherlock.” He guessed nonetheless. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need your…” He hesitated, but the simple use of the word _need_ got all of Quinn’s attention. “Insight.” Sherlock finished.

“My insight?” The younger brother repeated. “On what?”

“Relationships.”

“Oh.”

Indeed, it was probably the one thing in the world Quinn could pretend to know more about than both his brothers put together. On any other thing – except maybe computers – he was still clever as a Holmes, but three to ten years behind.

“Are you actually considering engaging in one?” He asked his middle brother teasingly.

“I’ve been seeing John Watson.” Sherlock answered bluntly.

“What?”

The book fell loudly on the floor as Quinn sat up brusquely. He was too stunned to pick it up.

“James’s friend? You… but is he… what do you mean exactly by seeing?” He had to ask.

“Oh, none of that sickening romantic crap you are sporting.” Sherlock informed him kindly. “Straight sex. Well. When I say straight.”

He had a smile that was more of a wince.

“I wasn’t expecting that.” Quinn said very honestly. “How long has it been going on?”

“Three weeks? We met at the party when you finally got your hands on your beloved, but only got together the week after that. But it’s not as if we saw each other every day. Five times.” He specified. “Three times in my room, once at his place, once in…you don’t need to know. He never slept over, I did because he lives at the other bloody end of town and I don’t have a car like he does. We get along, I mean we talk about various things, but generally it is mostly texts or brief calls to say where and when we can meet, and then well, sex. Those are the facts. What do you think that makes us?”

Quinn felt like he was being asked a trick question. There was no visible emotion in Sherlock’s exposition of his relationship (if it was even the right word) with John, it could have been an entry in an encyclopaedia, like when they used to play this game where Sherlock read a definition and little Quinton would give him the word it described.

“It depends how you feel about it.” He said carefully. “You and him both.”

“Well, we’re not about to start offering each other roses if that’s what you mean. It’s straightforward and it’s simple and it’s good as it is, but… John… he treats me differently than everyone else. I’m not such a freak when I’m with him. I’d say he _likes_ me.”

It wasn’t said in a romantic way, but stated the simple fact that Sherlock usually made people run away from him after too many minutes in his company. If John but tolerated him, willingly since he wasn’t family, it was already a big deal. And it surely meant something to Sherlock.

“And you like him.” Quinn risked.

“He doesn’t bore me.” Sherlock nuanced.

Which was as close as a confession Quinn would get, he was sure.

“So what happened?” He asked. “Why are you consulting me?”

“He asked me if we could stop having sex for a while.” Sherlock said, obviously not happy about it. “He met this girl, and he says he feels ‘uncomfortable cheating on her’ while they’re giving it a go.”

Quinn didn’t dare ask if he was jealous. He wasn’t sure Sherlock would be able to identify the feeling if he was.

“And it bothers you.” He said more simply.

“Well.” Sherlock shrugged. “Sex with John is good. And of course it was never going to be exclusive but I…sort of…whish…it was.” He forced each word out, obviously feeling like he was revealing a terrible and shameful weakness.

“Because you don’t want the sex to stop or because you want something more?” Quinn pushed him further.

“Ah.” Sherlock pursed his lips. “But what is ‘something more’? I’m not the clingy type, I don’t want to spend all my waking hours with or texting him. I’m even fine with not seeing him every day. So what will change if we label each other as a couple?”

As far as Quinn could tell, at least Sherlock wasn’t yet in love with John – not by his standards anyway. Because he didn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t see James each and every day.

“Do you want anything to change?” He asked his brother.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock said, words that seldom came out of his mouth. “Is sex even different when someone is your boyfriend? How is it with James?”

Quinn looked down and cleared his throat. He had hoped Sherlock wouldn’t go there. And of course he was incapable to play it cool.

“Oh, dear me.” Sherlock’s eyes widened and he tried to hide a mocking smile. “You haven’t done it yet.”

Quinn had turned white instead of red. Every time he thought about it, he physically panicked, his throat clenched, his heart started thumping and he found it difficult to breathe normally. It had nothing to do with being assaulted – which hadn’t happened in almost a month, with no sign of Silva whatsoever. He just couldn’t help thinking that James was too good for him. In everyday life, they measured up to each other. But the comparison was unfair between James’s build and his scrawny teenage body. Of course he trusted James, and his boyfriend had already proven he was more than a little attracted to him, unimpressive muscle mass or not, but he couldn’t help worrying. James’s resolve to take it slow didn’t help – it gave Quinton the impression James wasn’t quite prepared to take any chances with him.

“He says I’m young and we have all the time in the world.” Quinn confessed a little miserably to his brother. “He’s afraid he might break me or something.” He did not mention his own qualms.

“You’re not a virgin.” Sherlock pointed out.

This time the blood did rush to the youngest Holmes’s face.

“He doesn’t know.” Sherlock realized with a hint of surprise. “Oh, Quinny.”

“I haven’t told him about Charles.” Quinn confirmed.

“Why not?”

Quinn sighed.

“Sherlock, I haven’t told _Charles_ about Charles.”

“I know that, and I still think you’re an idiot about it. But your new boyfriend doesn’t even know him – isn’t that what you couples do, have this conversation about your respective exes? Besides, everybody can have bad experiences and drunken sex.”

Quinn wrinkled his nose.

“Not when they’re fourteen.”

“So you’re not as childlike and innocent as you look. If you want my honest opinion, Mr. Bond has realized that a while ago, and it’s not the lesser of reasons why he’s drawn to you.”

Quinton frowned, but Sherlock gave him a – slightly patronizing – pat on the shoulder.

“I mean he likes surprises. And you honestly are the most unpredictable person I know.”

Coming from Sherlock, who could read people like open books, it was a huge compliment.

“Anyway.” He sighed. “Back to my, hum. Issue. What do you think?”

“If you feel this way, you have to tell him.” Quinn advised.

“Says the guy who spent months watching a stranger’s every move in agony.”

“Says the guy who finally acted and is now very happy with his man.” Q retorted. “See this.” He pinpointed. “This is ‘something more’. I don’t need to have sex with him to be happy with James.”

Sherlock nodded, smiled vaguely, thanked him and left. Quinn knew he didn’t understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so Charles actually became a fleshed character instead of a random name from Quinn’s high school years. You are free to picture him as Matthew Goode or not at all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn deals with his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: underage drinking, underage sex (both underage), hurt/comfort

His conversation with Sherlock had made him think and over think, and he’d finally come to a decision. He had to be honest with James. If he still didn’t want to have sex with him yet, it was his choice, but he had to know he wouldn’t be Quinn’s first if he did.

Before he could tell James, however, he had to confront Charles. If anyone should know first, it was him. He should have known two years ago, too, but Quinton hadn’t been able to tell him. Instead he had cried his eyes out in the bathroom, where Sherlock had eventually found him, and made him spill the beans. But couldn’t convince him to go back and speak to Charles. He had only seen him a few awkward times after that, successfully acting perfectly natural, because he was a Holmes. Charles conveniently changing schools soon after had given him a perfect excuse to stay away.

His hands were shaking when he dialled his number.

“Hello?”

Oh, God, he still loved him. Focus, he inwardly slapped himself.

“Charles.” Quinn tried to take deep breathes. “It’s Quinn.”

“I know.” Charles answered, and he sounded like a smile. “Still got your number. Thought you had lost mine, how long has it been, a year and a half? You little bastard.”

Charles was seventeen now, but he had always acted like he was ages older than Quinn.

“You didn’t call either.” The latter noted.

“Nah, it’s true. Got news from Julia, it’s good you two kept in touch.”

There was no bitterness, no veiled reproach in his tone. Sweet, sweet Charles. It gave Quinn courage enough to continue.

“Charlie, I have to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere this week?”

“Today if you want.” Charles said. “Sunny Sunday, we can go to the park, you know.”

Back when they were in high school together – albeit Quinn a couple years ahead – they used, Julia and Charles and him, to spent all the sunny Sundays of the year (which wasn’t that many, considering it was England) in a little park next to the school eating ice-cream even if it was the middle of January. Quinn’s throat tightened a little. He had been so happy with them.

“Sounds perfect.” He answered Charles. “See you there at two?”

“Yes.” Charles confirmed. “And Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

“I really can’t wait to see you.”

‘Me too’ would have been the natural and polite thing to say. But Quinn couldn’t. He wasn’t impatient for Charles to discover what a creepy little liar he was, and how he had singlehandedly destroyed their friendship and their perfect, perfect trio. Even Julia had grown distant. Quinn suspected she had guessed a line had been crossed somewhere, and she didn’t stay close, so she didn’t have to ask, so she didn’t have to be unable to forgive him.

When Charles appeared, it made him forget all his worries for a few minutes. He was just Charles, and they were the best friends in the whole wide world and they would never lose touch with each other again. If only.

“Man.” Charles laughed, giving him a brief hug. “You did not grow any taller. Or thicker. ”

“Why does everyone have to comment on my shape?” Quinn protested with a smile he was unable to suppress.

He loved Charles. He missed Charles. He didn’t want to lose him. But he had to do this.

“So.” Charles said, and all of Quinn’s anxiety came back running. “What did you want to talk to me about? It sounded serious.”

“Ah, yes.” Quinn winced. “Remember my birthday two years ago?”

Might as well get straight to the point. He had to get it out – then it would be for Charles to choose to leave or stay.

Charles had a nervous sort of laugh.

“I remember not remembering much of it.” He said. “And that it was the first time I’d seen you with a hangover and you were really sullen and sort of emotional.”

“That wasn’t because of the hangover.” Quinn rectified. “I wasn’t nearly as drunk as you were.”

“I did get horribly pissed didn’t I.”

“Abysmally. But that not the point. Well, not exactly.”

“What then?”

Quinn could see Charles was beginning to worry. He was probably trying to remember that night, and the next morning, when indeed Quinton had been in a state.

“Something happened.” Quinn breathed out, scared almost stiff. “Before you blacked out and it erased any memory of it.”

Charles said nothing, looking at him with those concerned eyes of his, and Quinn closed his, because he didn’t want to see the expression on his face.

“We slept together.” He let out.

The silence following that was deafening. Quinn opened his eyes, and Charles’s face was completely blank, his mouth slightly open. His eyes fluttered suddenly as if the words were only just hitting him.

“We what?”

Quinton took another deep breath.

“We were at my bedroom’s window to wave Julia goodbye, and, I don’t know, our legs got tangled together when we stepped back, and then we were on the bed and... One thing sort of led to another...”

Charles stared at him for another moment, and made a strangled sound.

“One.” He tried to speak. “One thing...How...”

“I kissed you first.” Quinn confessed. “You did the rest.”

It was the most delicate way he could say things, when Charles had, in more concrete words, thoroughly fucked him blind.

“But I’m not even gay.” Charles said in a high-pitched voice.

“Oh, you made that clear.”

Bitterness transpired. Quinn closed his eyes again. He didn’t want to remember. Charles’s drunk sex-talk – and he talked a fucking lot – had been mean. Hurtful. He hadn’t meant to, he was just drunk and saying everything that went through his head, which only showed how little his feelings matched his friend’s. Quinn hadn’t cared on the spot because he was drunk and horny and Charles was kissing him all over as he spoke, but the next day, when he was the only one left remembering any of it, the words had felt like acid burning his insides.

 _“Look at you, you’re so hot for me. Do you really get these feelings from boys? Guess you do, cause”_ – at this point he was kissing Quinn’s cock half-consciously – _“you are really hard right now. Know what, you’re a sexy thing, look, I’m hard too. How does it work with boys? Shall I touch you here?”_ He had no clue what exactly he was doing, and Quinn was feeling all of his clumsy strokes and squeezes with an intensity increased by the alcohol. He guided Charles with his hands and a few choked words, got him to push his fingers into him. _“Wow this is actually hot. Wouldn’t have guessed it could be so... Never thought of doing it with a boy before. You like that, uh?”_ Quinn was writhing, moaning, turning mad. Charles was very amused when he found the right spot to hit, and tortured the younger boy for a few minutes. “ _Quinton Holmes, lustful out of his wits. Now that is a rare sight. Quite a pleasant one if you ask me, look how hard you’ve made me. Oh, the sounds you make!”_ He was laughing, truly having fun, high on liquor and desire. _“You want me to... Oh yeah, you do don’t you. I really want to do it too. You’re a marvel, you know that Quinn? I’m a little in love with Julia I think. But you. I’ve seen the way you look at me, you know. And you’re such a sweetheart. You make me want to let you love me.”_

And Quinn let himself love Charles. He let Charles slide his cock into him and talk nonsense into his ears between kisses. He let himself believe it was all he had wanted, let himself believe it was a perfect first time. Let himself believe Charles would realize they were meant to be together and it wouldn’t even be awkward in the morning.

In the morning Charles broke his heart and he didn’t even know it.

Present Charles looked horrified. Quinn almost felt sorry for him – if only because he couldn’t afford to feel sorry for himself.

“How can I not remember?” Charles asked vacantly.

“You were drunk off your face.” Quinn reminded him. “You went for a wee and never made it back to my room, crashed on the sofa midway. In the morning you thought you’d slept there.”

“I put my clothes back on?” Charles wondered, strangely practical.

Quinn tried to hold back a pained expression.

“You never took them off.”

“Oh, God.”

Charles put a hand over his mouth and staggered back. It was finally fully hitting him.

“I’m not here to blame you for anything.” Quinton reassured him. “I just wanted you to know. I should have told you ages ago, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Charles choked. “You should never have had to tell me in the first place! I should have _remembered_ something like that, for God’s sake-”

His voice broke, and he fought back an urge to sob, or retch.

“It’s okay...” Quinn started.

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s my fault.” The young Holmes said.

Charles’s eyes widened almost comically.

“Well you didn’t forget on purpose did you?” Quinn justified. “But I knew what I was doing, and I took advantage of the fact that you were drunk and very...pliant. You would never have...even begun to think about doing this with me if I hadn’t pushed you into it. And I’m really sorry for how it fucked our friendship apart. Sorry, poor choice of words. But I want to be friends again, if you can forgive me. You can take all the time you need to be comfortable.”

Charles looked positively distressed, and a little like he was about to cry.

“Quinn, you are breaking my heart.” He said. “I know how you felt about me back then. What happened...what I did, it was cruel, and I didn’t even have the decency to remember. And you’re the one asking me to forgive you?”

“You were very drunk.” Quinn said softly.

“It’s no fucking excuse!” Charles got angry. “You can’t be _that_ drunk as to not realize you’re having sex. It’s not like I didn’t know what I was doing, was it?”

Quinn shook his head. He had a point.

“You’re going to have to get rid of this ‘it’s-my-fault’ complex you have.” Charles added with a small smile.

Then, solemnly, he straightened himself up and looked Quinn right in the eyes.

“Quinn. I behaved like a schmuck, and I am more deeply sorry than you could ever know.”

Quinn nodded, his throat tight.

“Apology accepted.” He managed to say.

He still felt like Charles was the one with the forgiving powers. But maybe Charles was right, it _was_ a complex. He had no doubt about his being brilliant in many fields, but for human interaction, as far as he was concerned, the rest of the world knew what they were doing a lot better than him.

“If it is any consolation.” He said, not sure, again, that it was the appropriate thing to say. “You were a perfect first time. Even if I couldn’t really have you.”

Judging by Charles’s face, no, it hadn’t been the appropriate thing to say.

“First time.” He repeated. “Oh God, you were my first and I don’t even remember.”

“Charles.” Quinn snapped him out of going into a panic fit. “Stop beating yourself up. It happened, you didn’t remember, it sucked, but water under the bridges, okay? I am not telling you this today because I’m still into you. I have a boyfriend.”

Surprise, disappointment, relief and happiness flashed on Charles’s face in a blink.

“You do?” He smiled. “That’s great! What’s his name?”

“James.” Quinn said. “And I love him very much.”

It warmed his heart just to say it. Charles would always be precious to him. But he didn’t want him back, not as more than a friend anyway. He wanted James. He smiled wholeheartedly.

“I’m glad to have seen you again. Let’s get coffee sometimes, and smoke out Julia from wherever she is at the moment. The three of us back together for better and for worse.”

“Sounds perfect.” Charles smiled. “I won’t keep you longer now, run to your boyfriend.”

“You know me so well.” Quinn appreciated.

He stepped forward to pull Charles into a hug.

“See you then, Charlie.”

On with the present.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much fluuuuffff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much fluff. I had to compensate for "Personal Life" (check it out if you haven't!)

Quinn virtually ran to the college bar, where he expected to find James with John – that hadn’t changed, and Q usually didn’t join them, respecting their traditional time together. But it didn’t mean James couldn’t take him home after that. If he wanted to, that is, after he knew about Charles. One way or the other, Quinton suddenly couldn’t wait to get the truth out.

James was in his usual spot, John sitting across from him, but there was an additional guest. A girl. Quinn couldn’t help frowning when he saw her. So there was the girl who was potentially breaking his brother’s heart – well, at least making him realize he might have one. She was tall, brown-haired, not altogether bad looking, and looked at John with longing.

“Oh, Q!” James lit up when he saw him. He got up to greet him with a kiss, and whispered into his ear: “Thank God you’re here. They’re such a...couple.”

Quinn chortled.

“Cause we’re not?”

“You don’t write me poetry on scented paper. At least I hope you don’t.”

He drew him back towards the table, and faked a smile – it looked perfectly genuine, but Quinn could tell he wanted to strangle that girl.

“Jeanette, this is Quinton. He’s come to steal me away I’m afraid.”

Quinn could see Jeanette was confused by the statement – or more likely by the previous greeting kiss she had witnessed and the logical deduction that he was James’s boyfriend – but she smiled kindly and extended her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Quinton, I’m Jeanette, John’s girlfriend.” She established.

“Hi.” Quinn answered, shaking her hand. “John.” He added rather coldly.

He tried to convey in one glance that he knew about him and Sherlock, and by the way John lowered his gaze and shifted slightly in his chair, he probably succeeded.

“Shall we?” James said, grabbing his jacket.

“Have a nice evening.” Quinn said to the couple they were leaving, both looking a little puzzled.

“John, I’ll call you.” James promised.

Quinn didn’t doubt John was in for a harsh piece of criticism from James about this Jeanette conquest. He enjoyed a bit of that himself when they were out, letting James grumble about how he hated teachers, especially the young or training ones, with their belief that they Knew about the world and could change people with words and knowledge and whatnot. He went on about John having the worst taste in girls, and Quinn wondered if he should tell him about Sherlock, but it didn’t seem his place to be honest about that. And he had enough potential shocks for James for the night.

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about.” He ventured.

“That sounds serious.” James said, still half smiling.

“It is. It’s about me wanting to have sex with you.”

James’s smile faded.

“I thought we agreed to take this slow.”

“I think _you_ agreed that I was too young and fragile. I just want you to know I know what I’m talking about when I’m asking you to take me home.”

“Q, I am perfectly aware that you have a fairly clear idea what sex is, and that-”

“That’s not what I mean.” Quinn interrupted him. “I don’t mean I’ve researched the subject or whatever it is you imply. I’ve actually done it.”

He felt himself blush. He didn’t want to be coy about it, because James had to know, but he was dreading just a little bit what James would think of him after he’d heard the whole story.

“You’ve...” James was surprised. “You’ve had sex before?”

“Haven’t you?” Quinn teased.

He wanted to lighten the atmosphere, but James obviously didn’t think that was funny. He stopped walking, as if the conversation was becoming too much to handle if he had to think about moving too.

“I’m six years older than you. I was your age when I first had sex.”

“Well I was fourteen.” Q confessed. “He was my best friend.”

“He?” James repeated.

“Yes, he.” Quinn sighed. “I _am_ gay, in case you haven’t noticed. Well, I didn’t really want the tag before, but I might as well be honest with myself.”

James remained silent, and Quinn went on, throat a bit tight.

“Charles was the first boy I loved. We were both drunk, and I let him, or led him, anyway, we slept together. It was my birthday party.” He added, not sure why.

James raised a brow.

“At fourteen, your parents let you have the kind of birthday party where you ended up so drunk you had sex with your best friend?”

Quinn shrugged.

“The family home was far from my high school, I had a little place of my own. Mycroft was supposed to look after me, but he seldom did, he had enough responsibilities at his job, and Sherlock was experimenting with drugs at that time. As for my parents, I doubt they ever remembered a single one of our birthdays.”

He looked down, trying to convince himself he was not paving the way for breakup.

“And I wasn’t that drunk. I was actually lucid enough to realize Charles wasn’t, and that it was the only opportunity I would ever have to...” He shook his head, guilt painted all over his features. “I wanted him so bad. I really wanted him to be the first boy I kissed. And he was so totally on board in his drunkenness, I couldn’t stop at just a kiss...”

James remained silent for a moment (an eternity, if you asked Quinn), then he took the boy’s hand into his – maybe it was to comfort him, maybe it was to say that he was ready for him to go on.

“Tell me more about Charles.” He asked.

Quinn could see he was a little uncomfortable, and he appreciated the effort.

“We weren’t in class together obviously, I skipped three grades.” He said. “But we had sports together. I’m clever, but as you judiciously noted, I’m tiny. Teachers though it was more reasonable to have me measure up to other kids about my age. So, I met Charles.”

He smiled faintly at the memory.

“It was this kind of friendship that just happens. There was Julia too, the three of us clicked like pieces of a puzzle. We were inseparable. Until that night with Charles.”

“Did he react badly?” James encouraged him to continue.

“Can’t exactly say that. He didn’t remember.”

_“What?”_

“He was drunk.” Quinn excused him. “Probably drunker that he had ever been, I mean, he was fifteen after all. And he...well, he didn’t have the physical evidence I had.”

He paused, but James didn’t say anything – he looked like he was hesitating between fury and desolation. Quinton didn’t want to push him one way or the other. He didn’t tell him it broke his heart. He didn’t tell him he cried like he had never cried.

“I was so embarrassed.” He said instead. “So I let us grow apart. Eventually I sorted things out with Charles though.”

He cleared his throat. The whole truth, Quinn, he admonished himself.

“Actually, that was a few hours ago. I never told Charles what happened. Until a few hours ago. I needed to have the dreaded ex-talk with you, but I could tell you without telling him.”

“Good Lord.” James huffed. He sounded defused, which was good. “How did he react then?”

“I won’t go into details, but we’re friends again.” Quinton smiled.

James frowned in mock-worry.

“Should I consider him a rival?”

“No.” Quinn laughed. “You own my heart completely.”

“Good.” James smiled.

Quinn could only look at him in wonderment for a minute. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t disgusted at him. He was smiling. Listening, forgiving, and smiling. And still his boyfriend. How was this his life?

“I hope I’ll get to meet them one day, then, your Charles and Julia.” James added.

“Definitely.” Quinn agreed.

And just when he thought his heart couldn’t take more love, James grabbed him at the hips and pulled him into a kiss.

“Thank you for telling me this. I should be horrified that you had sex at fourteen, and I am a little, I mean, you look misleadingly young and innocent, but I do admit I was a bit freaked out to be your first.” He confessed. “This doesn’t mean I’m jumping your bones right now, it should still be special, okay?”

“Fair enough.” Quinn acknowledged.

“And let me make you a promise.” James went on.

“What?”

“I am _never_ having drunk sex with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peak: Mycroft will be in the next chapter!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft.

Quinn checked his watch. He wasn’t expecting anyone. It was too early for Browne, in the unlikely case he had forgotten his key when he left for dinner with his parents, and too late for James, who had a boxing class on Thursday evenings around that time.

There was another knock on the door, and Quinn wondered how long it would be before the knocking became more violent. Because if it wasn’t Browne, and it wasn’t James, then there weren’t that many options left, were they?

Instead of heavy blows, though, there came a soft voice.

“Quinton? Are you in there?”

Quinn almost rushed to the door in relief. He unlocked it, and Mycroft shot him an inquisitive look as he let himself in.

“Were you busy?” He asked suspiciously.

“No, sorry, I thought you were...someone else.” He finished with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Long time no see, what brings you here?”

“Just checking on the two of you.” Mycroft said, half-reproachful, half-threatening. “Since you never write.”

He was already looking around the room in an inquisitive way. Quinton resigned to his fate with a sigh. Any second now...

“Who’s this?” He picked up the picture of James that Quinn had put on his bedside table.

Well, it had to happen at one point or another.

“This is my boyfriend.” Quinn answered.

He would rewind the scene if he could, just to watch the look on Mycroft’s face again. In spite of observation abilities that compared to Sherlock’s, Quinn suspected Mycroft to have a rather clouded judgement when it came to his baby brother. He probably never deduced he was gay, or even old enough to have an interest in either boys or girls. He never knew about Charles, of course.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Boyfriend, Mycroft. He’s the guy I go on dates with and kiss breathless at lunchtime. And before you ask me about protection, we’re not doing it yet. But when we do I’ll text you the brand of the condom if you want.”

He was being unpleasant, but he didn’t want Mycroft to discard the mere idea that he could have a serious boyfriend because he still saw him as a ten year-old. He had to realize Quinn knew all there was to know about safe sex and was perfectly old enough to share a bed with another man and that he had nothing to say about it, eldest brother or not.

“Okay.” Mycroft said in a pacifying tone. “Congratulations. What’s his name?”

“So you can do a background check?” Quinn sneered.

Background check.

“Oh!” He followed his inspiration without thinking. “Do one on this guy instead: Raul Silva.”

Mycroft raised a brow.

“Why? Who is he?”

“He’s...just...he...”

He knew he was blushing violently.

“Never mind, forget I just said that.”

“Quinton Holmes.” Mycroft said severely.

“He’s just a creep, okay? I didn’t want to go out with him and it irritated him.”

Probably the understatement of the year, but he still had in mind Sherlock’s suggestion that Mycroft would most likely ship him off to a different university if he knew his wellbeing had been threatened in this one.

“Is he a menace?” The eldest Holmes asked pointedly.

“Nothing I can’t deal with.” Quinn said.

It was a bit of a lie, but only a bit. He was rather powerless against Silva physically, but he was far from helpless otherwise. He could take him down with a click of his mouse now; everything was set and ready, he just had to wait for the right opportunity.

“Right.” Mycroft said. He didn’t sound like he believed him. “And how is your brother?”

“Why don’t you go and ask him?” Quinn pointed out. “He’s best placed to answer.”

“I doubt he would open his arms to me.” Mycroft justified. “Or even his door.”

“Well.” The youngest answered. _“Our_ brother is just fine, as far as I know.”

There was no way in hell he was going to spill anything about Sherlock’s new relationship. If it even existed any more. If it had even been a relationship in the first place. He didn’t know why it made him so angry that John had this stupid girlfriend. It didn’t concern him who he dated, and it was certainly not his job to fix Sherlock’s love life. And yet.

“There is a whole story going through your eyes, dear brother.” Mycroft noticed amusedly. “What is it that you’re hiding?”

Quinton shrugged.

“If I’m hiding it, it’s none of your business.” He said.

Mycroft had never intimidated him. He had certainly intimidated Sherlock, when Sherlock was still a child and Mycroft a teen or a young adult already, which was probably why the middle Holmes resented his eldest so much now. He hated himself for once being impressed.

Mycroft frowned, displeased by his attitude. Quinn realized he was being snappy, but it was so like Mycroft, to just pop up unannounced and judge. And when it came to James, or indeed Sherlock, he didn’t want to let them be judged.

“Sexual frustration does not become you, Quinton.” Mycroft said unexpectedly.

Quinn let out a shocked breath.

“I’m not...this is not...shut up!”

Mycroft smirked.

“You’ve always been like that.” He said.

Quinn looked at his brother doubtfully.

“Sexually frustrated?”

“Obviously not. But whenever you can’t have something you want, you become a shrew.”

“Oh but I can have it.” Quinn replied defiantly. “Whenever I chose to take it. I can.”

“Um-hum.” Mycroft hummed, unconvinced. “I would advice, however, that you think this one through more carefully, before you get your heart broken again.”

Quinn opened his mouth to answer, but not a sound came out. Mycroft was casting him a meaningful glance. Oh God, he knew exactly what he was talking about. How could he have thought something about him had gone past Big Brother?

“Is there anything you don’t know?” He wondered out loud.

“Very little.” Mycroft deemed. “But come on, Quinton. Don’t act like it was hard to deduce. Charles was your best friend, and you stop talking about him altogether from one day to the next. Those inane pictures of you three somehow disappeared. It all wasn’t very subtle.”

He paused, and continued in a softer voice.

“And I could see you were in pain.” He said. “You did a good job hiding it, of course, but I’ve known you since you were born. And I don’t like seeing you in this state, Quinn. So please make sure you’re not going to hurt yourself again.”

Quinn remained silent for a while, touched by Mycroft’s well-hidden kind-heartedness. Then he gave him a sad little smile and shook his head.

“I don’t care.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I love him so much, Mycroft. You’re going to mock me like everyone else because I’m only sixteen and apparently the heart is not mature enough to love so strongly at that age.”

“Romeo and Juliet were younger than that.” Mycroft answered slightly out of the blue. “You are not a kid, Quinton. You haven’t been for a long time. You are too clever and too wise not to know what it is you are feeling. I trust you on that.”

Again, Quinn looked at his eldest brother with eyes like saucers.

“Wow...” He breathed, uncertain of what to say. “Thank you, Mycroft.”

“But you are also clever enough to realize that you should back off if he’s not the guy for you.”

Quinn shook his head again.

“Well that’s the thing. He is the one. I don’t know if I’m his one, but he’s very indisputably my one. I don’t want to back off for fear he could break my heart. Maybe he will, I know that, but maybe he won’t. I want all the time I can get with him. I don’t want to love another man. Ever.”

“Weren’t you feeling that way about Charles?” Mycroft inquired after a moment of silence.

“No.” Quinn answered without needing to think about it. “I loved Charles and I wanted him to love me back, and I wanted us to stay together for as long as we could. But I knew deep down that it wasn’t possible. I knew we weren’t soul mates. And when he broke my heart, it hurt like hell, but I knew I would recover. If James breaks my heart...”

He stopped, throat tight at the mere thought of it.

“All the king’s horses and all the king’s men.” Mycroft provided, pensive.

“Exactly.”

Mycroft sighed, and if he had been a normally emotionally balanced human being, he would have ruffled his little brother’s hair.

“Well.” He said like he was resigning himself to the situation. “I do hope this young man will not break your heart, then.”

He smiled a tender smile that had always been Quinn’s exclusive privilege.

“You are not too young to love. But you certainly are too young to never love again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I can post the next chapter before too long, but life is going to get busier for the next few weeks or even months so I'm afraid you won't get updates every other day. But I know myself and I will no doubt keep writing fanfiction in between writing essays, so don't worry too much :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a most random Colin Morgan cameo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted from Paris, with love. Thank you all for all your comments!

Quinn had been recruited by the university IT team to help them for the monthly system maintenance. Officially, they were offering him a useful opportunity to observe and gain a little work experience. In reality, few of the members of the team were unaware of his skills, it was a Friday night, and they knew the job would be done twice as fast with the young man's help. They would reward him with a gift card or another.

He was supposed to meet James at the bar for a drink after that, maybe meet some friends afterwards for more drinks (although James had pledged to put Quinn back on lemonade before he became an alcoholic at his young age) but he received a text from him halfway through his work.

_Where are you? Urgent._

Quinn texted him back the building and room number, and James showed up some fifteen minutes later accompanied by another boy – a black-haired lanky thing with blue eyes, a goofy smile (rather embarrassed at the present moment) and funny ears.

“What's going on?” Quinn asked, not ceasing to type on his keyboard even though he had stopped looking at the screen, only giving it a quick glance here and then.

From the corner of his eye, he saw two of the IT girls lean towards each other and whisper something. Given the way they both giggled, Quinton suspected it was about James's hotness. And indeed, Quinn appreciated, he was dressed to break some hearts. Or to reaffirm his hold on Quinton’s, which was hardly necessary.

“Q.” James spoke. “This is Colin. People might come up in the next couple of days and tell you they've seen me cheat on you with him.”

Quinn let out an incredulous laugh.

“Okay, I wasn't expecting that. Should I believe them?”

“I did chat him up a little. It was very easy, mind you.” He added with a smile. “He has a thing for blondes, he tells me.”

Colin stopped dancing awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Oh, God”. He stepped in. “Can you not try to make your boyfriend want to kill me? You're the one who came up to me.”

He turned to Quinn as if to ask him to take his side.

“And then after a good ten minutes of leading me on, he 'let's get out of here' me and tells me he has a boyfriend instead of kissing me.”

He turned back to James.

“I'm still waiting for that explanation you promised.”

James answered addressing Quinn.

“I saw Silva checking him out. Didn't want to take any risks.”

Quinn's fingers stopped flying over the keys. He looked at Colin, at his black hair, and his blue eyes, and his slender frame, and commented bitterly.

“So he has a type.”

“What type?” Colin asked. “Who?”

Quinton sighed.

“That guy James mentioned, Raul Silva. You can say we have a personal feud with him. He tried to rape me, James punched him in the face.”

“Oh, God.” Colin said again, although in a much different tone.

“So I couldn't let him get his hands on you.” James said. “Had to present you with a better alternative.”

“I'd have preferred the alternative in which you were single,” Colin said, “but thank you.”

“Sure.” James nodded.

“I really need a boyfriend.” Colin sighed, not addressing anyone in particular.

He proceeded to look around wistfully, as if he was going to find one here. Quinn went back to his maintenance, thoughtful. James had a bit of a hero complex, didn't he. Of course it was great that he had saved this boy from potentially becoming Silva's victim. But if the chronology had been different, if Colin hadn't been refrained by the fact that the role of the boyfriend had already been cast...

“No.” James whispered in his ear, making him jump.

He hadn't heard him come close behind him. Colin, for want of good-looking guys, was now looking at a poster explaining the various types of Internet search engines and their pros and cons, and paying no attention to them. James locked his arms around Quinn, and smiled against his neck.

“He couldn't have been you.” He developed. “Stop underestimating yourself. You are one of a kind.”

Quinn turned into James's arms to give him a kiss. When the sound of his keyboard stopped, there was a generalised silence. Everyone had actually been watching them for the past couple of minutes. One of the girls gasped gleefully when they kissed. Quinn knew she was a militant for gay rights, and she had congratulated him when she heard he was going out with James Bond, which was great too because James was rather popular and with that anyone could see there was absolutely no shame in being happily and openly in a same-sex relationship. Quinn could not argue – it was great.

“You still have work to do.” James noted after returning the kiss. “I'll leave you to it and give Colin a ride home. It's not late but I don't think he's in the mood to keep partying.”

Quinn had a little pout.

“I'm not in the mood to keep working.”

“I'll be back.” James promised. “We can have a drink, and talk about your hacking skills.”

“Of which you still doubt.” Quinton reproached.

“I'm prepared to let you convince me. We can't let that maniac get away with himself.”

“No, we can't.”

Quinn wanted to do something for his own safety of course, but he also wanted to do it, although he wasn't sure why it felt like his responsibility, for all the Colins out there. All the other naïve boys who just wanted to be looked at. He recognised his own former feelings in Colin's eyes. There was someone in his heart, and this someone didn't know he existed. As he watched him follow James out, he wished wholeheartedly it did not happen one day by this someone saving him from rape.

He worked fast to finish his work, not wasting time musing like he usually did, and probably freaking out half the IT team in the process, who realized he might be even more of a computer wizard than he was letting on. He was only just back in his room when James knocked on the door. He reported Colin was safely home, and open to suggestions if they knew a guy they could hook him up with. Apparently he needed to get someone out of his head.

“Still want to go out?” James then asked.

“Let me get changed.” Quinton answered him.

“Do you need to?” James looked at him up and down. “I like you in your Perfect Little Geek outfit.”

“Holmes.” Browne spoke from the other side of the room, reminding them of his presence. “I have to get up early tomorrow to study for my Monday exam, so if you're going out, _again,_ you better not wake me up at whatever ungodly hour you come back.”

He looked at James suspiciously. Quinn had never brought him back when Browne was present, now that he thought about it, his room-mate probably didn't know the full extent of their relationship. He wondered how he would take it. He didn’t know if he was the kind to be bothered by sharing his room with a gay kid.

“I'll do my best.” Quinn sighed, unwilling to test it.

“He won't wake you.” James assured.

He turned back to his boyfriend.

“Do get changed if you want to. And pack your toothbrush.”

Quinn's eyes went wide.

“What?”

“Merely for the respect of your dear room-mate,” James said ironically, “I suggest you sleep over at mine.”

“Hey!” Browne protested honourably. “He's sixteen, you-”

“Yes, thank you Paul.” Quinton said. “We're dating. I think I can manage.”

Browne merely shrugged and went back to his books. If he was bothered, it didn’t show. Quinn processed what James was suggesting. He would have expected to feel the need to scream and dance around, or on the contrary to have a panic attack, but he found himself taking all this very serenely. He smiled at James.

“Do I need to pack my pyjamas?”

James smiled back.

“I have an inkling you won't need them.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sex struggles to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this will probably be highly unsatisfactory, but I wanted to give you guys something, because I have no idea when I’m going to have time to write anything decent. I feel uninspired and useless these days, so what with all the work on top of that my WIPs are stalling a bit.
> 
> Also, I don’t want to write a sex scene at the moment, I’m not up for it, and I’m obviously dragging it out here as you will see, so there I stop and hand the chapter over to you. Don’t voice your hatred and frustration too harshly! I’ll do my best to get back on my feet.

When Quinn walked into James’s little studio, he felt as if he was here for the first time. Everything was under a completely new light in the present circumstances. He was nervous. This was a turning point. What if they weren’t compatible physically? What if James hated it? What if-

“Have you eaten?”

Quinn turned to him, blinking like he was coming out from under water, and James had a small affectionate laugh.

“What’s going through your head again? You use this brain of yours too much, you know that?”

Quinn frowned and smiled at the same time, and when he answered he thought he sounded like Sherlock:

“There’s no such thing.”

“There is when you’re with me.” James retorted, closing the distance between them and catching him into his arms. “You can’t keep imagining all the possible scenarios in which we don’t work. We’re working now. And I love you.”

Quinn’s breath stuck in his throat and he had to cough in surprise. James laughed and kissed him.

“Oh yeah, I said it.” He mouthed against the boy’s lips.

“But...” Quinn slightly panicked. “But, you weren’t sure, you weren’t...”

“And the more time I spend with you, the surer I am.” James said. “I don’t see how anyone could compete with you for ownership of my heart. And I find myself not wanting to find out.”

He kissed him again, thoroughly, and Quinn lost himself in the kiss, and he stopped thinking. James eventually broke it off, although the glimmer in his eyes seemed to indicate he didn’t really want to.

“Have you eaten?” He asked his boyfriend again.

Quinton shook his head. James smiled, planted one last kiss on his lips and let him go to turn to the fridge.

“Now, I know you might be hungry for something else than food, but let’s take care of your stomach first, shall we?”

Quinn had a small laugh, and James cast him an inquisitive look.

“That’s the second very not subtle innuendo you’ve thrown my way tonight.” He noted. “You had applied yourself to not even remotely sexualize me before, you made it clear it wasn’t on the agenda yet. What happened that made up your mind?”

James stopped in his tracks, a box of eggs in his hands, and looked at Quinton seriously.

“Do you know what’s the maximum time I waited between meeting a person I wanted to sleep with and actually sleeping with them?”

Quinton pretended to have to calculate the time gone by since he had first kissed James.

“A bit over a month and a half?” He chose not to answer in days. “Assuming you wanted to sleep with me earlier than tonight.”

“No, before you.” James specified. “Two days. If the girls I hit on don’t come home with me right away, I’m the delightful guy who doesn’t wait three days to call them. And my longest affair lasted about five months. I never felt like this, like sex was such an important step in my relationship with someone that it had to be the right time for both of us.”

Quinton swallowed, touched and clueless as to what to answer to that. James was so much less confident than he let on. He had taken things personally, thought that he wasn’t good enough for James to be sure about their relationship, when all along the older man’s restraint had been a sign of respect, and concern, and love.

“And I just think the time is right now.” James concluded very calmly, very confidently. “After I make you some eggs on toast, that is.”

“I’m not hungry.” Quinn replied. He took a sharp intake of breath. “In fact, I’ve been a little bit hard since we left my room, and it’s bordering on uncomfortable now.”

Without leaving James any time to react, he closed the distance between them and went for a deep, hot kiss. Part of his brain remembered to be thankful that the box of eggs was on the counter, or James would probably have let it shatter on the floor making them an unwelcome omelette. When his hands started to worm under James’s shirt, the older man stopped him.

“Hey, hey, wait, not so fast.”

“Not so-” Quinn could feel he was going to get angry any second now if James intended to go on again about his age or something else. “This is _not_ fast James.” He noted. “We’ve been together six weeks and two days. I have loved you far longer than that.”

James opened his mouth, but Quinn raised a hand to stop him.

“Before you say anything.” He went on a little heatedly. “I’m sixteen, okay. I was assaulted, okay. But I am not a virgin, and I am not traumatized. If you think I should be, then you really don’t get me at all. James, I have an IQ of 187, I’m not your average 16-year old now am I? All it means is that you’ve started living a little ahead of me. Quite honestly I think I caught up on your maturity by the time I was five. I am not a kid, and I know what I want. If _you_ don’t want it, if you’re scared, don’t put it on me, it’s your own choice.”

James had a little smile on by the end of his rant.

“Are you finished?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Because I’m rather turned on right now. What do you say we move this conversation to the bedroom?”

In a matter of seconds, they seemed to teleport in the bedroom and into a horizontal position, and kept kissing for a while on James’s bed, softly, slowly, although Quinn could feel his erection become painful. He didn’t want to rush things, but they would have to do something about it soon.

He was just going to say something when James drew back a little to look at him, one hand cupping his face.

“I didn’t say that because I didn’t want it.” He said. “But I want us to take our time. I want this to be the best sex of your short, short life.” He added, tongue-in-cheek.

“Okay.” Quinn whispered, wondering if it was too daring to hope it would also be the case for James.

He endured the tightness of his jeans for one more kiss, but he had to push his boyfriend back and plead:

“But can we please take our time with pants off? I don’t know about you, but-”

He was cut midsentence, breath hitching, as James suddenly cupped the bulge between his legs and palmed him through the fabric softly, drawing uncontrollable whimpers from his lips.

“Oh, don’t torture me.” Quinn pleaded. “You really don’t want to play this game.”

James had a little laugh.

“Really? Why not?”

“I have two brothers, remember? Two _insane_ brothers.”

In the blink of an eye, he sprung up and James found himself on his back straddled by the boy without fully understanding what had just happened.

“One of whom taught me taijutsu, or, well, at least his own version of what he thought was taijutsu at the time... Anyway.”

He leaned in to kiss his slightly bewildered boyfriend, then stood up on the bed, and casually removed his shirt, then his jeans and socks, then his underwear, as James’s eyes widened and widened and his half-opened mouth obviously went dry.

“Don’t just stare.” Quinn laughed. “Get naked.” He cocked his head. “Or shall I help you?”

He dropped back to his knees and tugged on James’s jeans at the hips. James let him, heaving himself up to remove his shirt in the meantime – Quinn almost got distracted by the way his abs contracted to keep himself up at a 45° angle, but he did manage to unbutton the trousers and slide them down James’s legs. James stopped his hands at the waistband of his boxers.

“Will you take my socks off first?” He asked. “There is nothing worse than to be stark naked with socks on.”

Quinn agreed with a laugh. He then slid his hands up the side of James’s legs, and back down, without pulling the boxers down.

“Come on.” James huffed. “Who’s torturing whom now?”

But Quinn suddenly had something on his mind – because it’s hard to have an IQ of 187 and not ask questions.

“Have you done it with a boy before?” He asked, still stroking James’s legs absent-mindedly.

James heaved himself up on his elbows and raised a brow at the young Holmes.

“Are you worried it’s going to be a yes or a no?” He wondered.

“I’m not worried.” Quinn denied, not very convincingly. “I just wanted to know... It doesn’t matter obviously.”

“Why doesn’t it matter?” James asked softly.

Quinn looked down, biting down an embarrassed smile, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks.

“Because you’re going to be on top.”

James let out something between a laugh and a swear word.

“You wanted to know if I had done it with a boy on the receiving end then.”

“Oh, forget it.”

“No, I think it’s cute.” James smiled. “Look at you considering being in me. I must say the idea is appealing.”

“Don’t say stuff like that.” Quinn flushed a deeper shade of red.

“Oh? Would you prefer me to demonstrate?”

Quinton’s shyness was only momentary, and he looked down at James’s still covered erection.

“You might want to take your pants off first.” He said cockily.

James threw his arms back behind his head.

“I’m going to let you.”

Then he burst out laughing.

“Oh, God, that sounded sexier in my head, it came out wrong. I’m not asking...”

“You don’t need to ask.” Quinn replied.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> following the previous chapter directly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, and I hope you will like this!

Once James’s pants were off, and Quinn had stared at his cock with eyes like saucers for about five minutes, he laughed a little nervously and admitted he had no idea how to do this. He ran a finger up the length, making James shudder, and grinned apologetically.

“Can I...not give you a blowjob right now?”

James laughed.

“Come here.”

Quinn lied down next to him, James wrapping his arms around him. They kissed, skin brushing against skin, and James manoeuvred them slowly so that eventually he was supporting himself up above his young boyfriend.

“Any allergies?” James asked.

He was smiling, but Quinton could hear the anxiety in his voice.

“Anything you don’t want to do? Anything I shouldn’t say?”

Quinn raised a hand between them and touched it to James’s chest above him.

“Anything from the heart is welcome.” He said. “Let this moment be just about us, okay?”

James kissed him again, and his hand came to tease the crest of his ass.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt.” James said.

“Stop being afraid you’ll hurt me.” Quinn whispered back.

“Whatever you say.” James replied with a smile, leaning towards the bedside table to retrieve some lube from the drawer, and a condom he left at hand. “I’ll prepare you until I’m sure it won’t hurt.”

When James’s lube-coated finger first pushed slightly into his hole, Quinn tensed up and had a flash of Silva pressed against him. James withdrew his hand at once.

“I’m okay.” Quinn blurted out. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

“Don’t apologize.” James said.

“Don’t stop.” Quinn replied. “It won’t get any better if we make a big deal out of it.” He locked his arms around James’s neck. “Fill me, blind me with yourself.”

“Are you sure?” James asked, clearly concerned and even a little spooked.

“I just want to forget he ever laid his hands on me. It will help if I can remember your touch.”

James brought his hand back, working his way slowly into the young Holmes, loosening him up gently and lovingly – punctuated by regular kisses. Silva’s image faded from Quinn’s mind, replaced by Charles’s. He didn’t say anything, swallowing back the lump in his throat, and kissed James as if his life depended on it, kissed him until he was all he could see and think about.

This all took place in under two minutes. James was good with his hands, and it was hard to think of anything else with his fingers doing what they were doing. Quinn felt himself craving for more, craving for James’s cock filling him to the brim – but he kept quiet, because he knew he wasn’t loose enough yet. What he did was start playing with James’s nipples, and watch him lose focus, and feel him quicken his pace working him loose, causing him to arch his back and lose focus in his turn, and pinch harder on a nipple – this little game went on until they were both mad with desire, and Quinn suddenly took James’s cock in his hand.

“I’m prepared enough.” He spoke with urgency. “Please please please.” He almost whined.

“I think you are actually.” James said. “And I can hardly wait longer. No pun intended.”

Quinn chuckled, and shivered as James slid his hands behind his thighs to lift him up and get them aligned.

“Is it uncomfortable?” James enquired. “I’d have liked to see your face.”

“It’s perfect.” Quinn answered, hooking his legs around James’s torso, causing their cocks to rub together.

James picked up the condom beside him, tore it open and rolled him on himself, before pouring more lube and rubbing both their cocks together until they were slick to his satisfaction – and a little bit longer, because God was Quinn making the most maddening noises. Then he shifted so the head of his cock came to press teasingly against Quinton’s hole.

“You are so beautiful.” James breathed.

“Look who’s talking.” Q replied. “By the way, less talking. More fucking.”

James laughed lightly.

“Is that your idea of dirty talk?”

He didn’t wait for any answer, as if he had just wanted to distract Quinn from the moment he pushed into him. The boy’s eyes fluttered close, his mouth open in a silent cry, but if James was worried he was causing him any pain, he was reassured the next second when Quinn bucked his hips to take him even deeper.

The feeling of James filling him was unlike anything Quinn had experienced before. They had been so clumsy and so drunk with Charles, and he had so desperately wanted to connect, in any way. This was something else entirely. He knew James was here, was his. He was welcoming his into his own body as if he belonged there – and quite honestly, if you asked Quinn, he did. Their bodies fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, their hearts beat the same pulse, in rhythm with each of James’s thrusts. It was like finally getting something he had missed his whole life – and it was like doing it for the millionth time, because it felt so right and so perfect. It felt like a safe place, the only entirely safe place there could ever be. He knew James felt the same. Their shared their breath, their almost shared their thoughts. James held onto him like he would never let go. He melted into him like it didn’t matter whose body was whose.

They came together, or so Quinn thought – if they didn’t exactly, it was within seconds of each other, and both their orgasms rippled through their bodies, tearing an inarticulate cry from James’s lips, who heard his name on Quinn’s. He withdrew after a moment, disposed of the condom gracefully, and dropped beside his boyfriend still trying to catch his breath. Quinn snuggled close to him, and he wrapped an arm around him.

“I love you.” James whispered, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Like I never loved anyone. You take my breath away.”

“Here.” Quinn replied with a smile, leaning in to kiss James. “Have it back.”

“Oh no, it’s yours.” James said, returning the kiss. “Breath, heart, body and soul.”

He punctuated that with kisses on Quinn’s lips, chest, stomach and forehead.

“It’s all yours.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love and sappiness.

When Quinn woke up next to James, he thought of Charles again. Of how he hadn’t woken up next to him. It made him smile. Because Charles was in the past, and James was here, sharing the space in the middle of the bed with him, and he would remember all about the night before.

“Stop staring at me and go back to sleep.” James groaned drowsily, his eyes still closed. “I’m sure it’s way too early to get up for a Saturday morning.”

“I have to use the bathroom.” Quinn justified, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Don’t leave.”

James had a little laugh, still half asleep.

“It’s my flat. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I mean ever.” Quinn said softly, almost for himself.

This time James opened his eyes, and looked at the boy looking at him.

“Sorry.” Quinton said, looking down.

He knew James couldn’t promise him that, and it was cruel of him to put him in this position. Not everyone could be as absolute as he was himself. He got up swiftly, retreating to the bathroom before it became awkward. He couldn’t let it become awkward. It had been so perfect. He had to control himself, to let James move at the rhythm he felt comfortable with.

He only realized he had been lost in thought for a while when James knocked on the door.

“Are you alright in there?”

Quinn opened the door, and the mere sight of James made him smile. He did use his brain too much. They loved each other and it was all that mattered for now. Everything was going well, and he didn’t need to do anything but be himself to keep it that way.

“Yes.” He answered without lying. “Breakfast?”

James insisted on preparing everything, less to treat Quinn as a guest than because the kitchen was ridiculously tiny and cooking together would probably prove hazardous. Quinn opened the laptop he had brought with him in the meantime, settling back on James bed on his stomach.

When James joined him with two plates of bacon and scrambled eggs, announcing that the toasts were on the way, he was checking on Silva. He almost felt ashamed when James leaned in to take a look, as if bringing the abject man into their little haven was rude and tasteless. But James didn’t focus precisely on the fact that Silva was on the screen; more on how he had got there.

“Where are you getting this from?” He asked.

“Campus CCTV.” Quinn replied. “This is from the library, second floor, silent study room, that’s where he is right now, but not on a computer as you can see. I haven’t managed to catch him on a school computer yet. When I do, I can drop my program on him, and then we should be rid of him within the university.”

“Campus CCTV?” James picked up.

“Hacked it.” Quinton informed him. “I have the live feed redirected to this laptop 24/7. I check it up at the hours he’s more likely to be using a computer.”

“You hacked the CCTV feed from all over the campus?” James sounded impressed. “Couldn’t that get you in trouble?”

Quinton had a smile that James and John would later call between them _the Holmes trademark_. Faint, hardly even a smile. It was a facial expression which said that if ever someone got that clever, they would be happy not to get away with it, but that it was very unlikely to happen.

“I’ll start worrying when anyone on the IT team understands half of what I’m doing when they watch me work.” He said, confirming his little smile.

“And you’re not worried you’ll make yourself an enemy?”

Quinn raised a brow.

“In case you haven’t noticed, he doesn’t have the best intentions towards me as it is.”

“Yes, I know.” James answered in a voice that was almost an angry growl. “But it’s one thing to refuse his sexual advances, and another to have him expelled from university and get him a possible criminal record. As for the scale on which he could retaliate.”

“What would you have me do?” Quinn frowned this time. “Sit there and wait for him to find a way to... It’s not like I’m framing him for something he didn’t do. Well, a little bit. But he did try to rape me. And God knows what he would have tried with Colin.”

“I just want you to be sure about this.” James said gently.

“I’m sure about this.” Quinn replied. “I’m not saying it will fix everything and he will leave us alone forever. But I’m not going to do nothing, and if I can get him out of our everyday life for now, the better we will be for it.”

James kissed him, and held a plate up to him.

“I’m wholly with you on this then.” He said. “Now eat.”

Quinton clapped his laptop shut and took the plate, faking suspicion.

“You’re not going to develop an obsession about making me eat, are you?”

“If this is you being insecure about your body,” James smiled, “know that you are beautiful. You’re not too much or too little of anything. You’re perfect.”

“And you’re a liar.” Quinn replied with a laugh. “But I love you.”

They talked about something else while they were eating, and didn’t talk at all in the following dozen minutes they spend making out on the bed, but James came back on the subject a little while later, as they were doing the dishes side by side.

“I’m not lying, you know. It actually surprises me how beautiful I find you.”

Quinton turned to him, and got a little sidetracked by the wonderful fact that he got to be domestic with James, and that they both felt happy and comfortable about it, and that his heart stayed in the right place even when hearing a compliment like that. Because it’s right place was with James, in the love they shared.

“You know.” He smiled. “You don’t need to keep reassuring me. I trust you.”

“Oh.” James smirked back. “If you really think I’m going to stop stating how amazing you are, you are thoroughly mistaken. Honestly. Some things just need to be said.”

“I love you.” Quinn said as if to help him prove his point.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Why does it surprise you?” Quinn wondered.

“I was used to liking women. I didn’t expect to be this captivated by a male body. But you truly are taking my breath away.”

He tangled a hand into Quinn’s hair playfully, and pulled him into a kiss. The boy laughed against his lips, and protested feebly.

“Are you for real, your hands are covered in washing-up liquid!”

James ruffled his hair even more intently, smearing soap in his black curls.

“Well, I guess you will _have_ to take a shower now.” He grinned.

“Only if you come with me and show me exactly what you find beautiful in my body.” Quinton invited him. “Then I can tell you how much more beautiful those parts are in yours.”

He went serious suddenly, feeling like he really needed to say this.

“Because God, James, I’m beautiful if I’m the only boy you’ve seen naked in your life. You... I don’t even have words. It’s not that I don’t believe you. I’m beautiful to you. But you’re a god for anyone who looks at you. I’m sure people faint when you go to the beach. Rivulets of water down your slightly tanned and flawlessly muscled chest, tight swimsuit shaping that perfect ass of yours and leaving rather little to the imagination on the front... Jesus, I think I’m going to faint just picturing it. I’m not kidding.” He added at seeing James’s smile.

“No, you’re not.” James answered cheekily. “And of course you’re not at all partial.”

“You know there’s a facebook group for the girls of this university, with a large number of members?”

“How do you know that if it’s a girls group?” James asked. “Isn’t it girls only? Or do you have a secret female facebook profile? I’d like to see that.”

Quinn rolled his eyes.

“Girls and hackers only.” He said. “Anyway that’s not the point. Last month they had a poll on who was the sexiest man on campus. Guess who came first.”

“Really?” James laughed, amused and a little pleased. “It explains the dozen friend requests I got from girls I had never even slept with. Heard of.” He tried to catch himself.

Quinn muffled the slight sting he always felt when reminded James was quite the ladies man, but he had long accepted that it just was a fact, and that in spite of it, he actually was James’s boyfriend. He could hardly ask for more.

“I know you had lots of girls before you realized how beautiful my male body was.” He said jokingly. “There’s no reason not to be honest about it. I just have one enquiry, but we don’t have to talk about it now.”

“What is it?” James got curious.

“We don’t have to talk about it now.” Quinn repeated. “I’ll ask when I’m ready to hear the answer.”

It was about the longest affair James had mentioned having, five months. He wanted to know who, he wanted to know why, how. But at the same time he didn’t. Didn’t want to know that he had cared for someone else than him, didn’t want to know if he hadn’t cared but stuck along anyway. Didn’t want to know how they’d ended, and start over-thinking his own possible shortcomings.

“You’re getting annoying.” James said, pulling him close and pressing his lips to his forehead. “Projecting yourself in an unlikely future where I stop loving you. Can you stop?”

Quinn refrained from arguing that it was more about the time he didn’t love him yet, and put the idea of the shower back on the table instead. James could only approve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might not be much longer, I think I'll finish it when they manage to get rid of Silva (don't worry there's a twist coming before that), with a potential flash-forward epilogue... We shall see. Hope you still enjoy!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if it seems like nothing much is happening, but this story needs to catch up on Sherlock's side in terms on timeline, and I can only write so much at a time! Don't worry though, I have some idea of how to wrap this up eventually ^^  
> sorry for any mistakes I didn't proofread very thoroughly (I have to get back to work)

After Sherlock called him, Quinn was left feeling rather confused. It wasn’t that he thought Sherlock incapable of love; he knew he had more heart than people suspected. But it was one thing to have feelings and another entirely to admit to himself, let alone to his brother, that he was in love.

Quinn knew Sherlock would probably need a little push to now admit that to the object of his affections. Of course he had to do the talking himself, but if he could provide him with an easy way to get John to listen, that would make things much easier. Which would be not easy at all, given Sherlock’s dispositions for heartfelt talks.

He was still lost in thought when James met him at the library. He greeted him with a chaste(ish) kiss – earning them a frown from a guy on the left and a smile from a girl on the right.

“You look thoughtful.” James noticed. “Essays giving you trouble?”

Quinn had long finished his essays, and the readings that went with them.

“Not really.” He said modestly. “Are you still seeing John every Sunday?”

He had gone through other ideas, but it seemed like the better way to do things. He’d already texted Sherlock the suggestion, asking for his permission to let James in on the plan. Which wasn’t much of a plan, it only involved allowing Sherlock to interrupt their ritual Sunday drinks.

“Yes.” James said, taken by surprise by the question. “Why do you-”

He was interrupted by the ring of Quinn’s phone.

“Hold on.” He was told.

They moved to the corridor, James following absentmindedly, mostly because between the guy glaring from the left or the girl batting her eyelashes from the right, he chose neither.

“Yes.” Quinn answered Sherlock.

“No.” Sherlock replied on the other end of the line.

“It’s the only way you’ll be sure he’ll sit and listen.” Quinton argued.

“I don’t need your boyfriend judging me or worse, warning me about hurting his best friend and all the like.”

“Nobody’s judging you.”

Quinn could see James look more and more at a loss from what he was hearing of the conversation. Although he wasn’t sure that would be at all reassuring, he mouthed his brother’s name so he would at least know who he was talking to.

“Right.” Sherlock sneered. “In doubt, I’m a lot more comfortable if James Bond has a good reason to not have any opinion on the subject.”

“You have to talk to him, Sherlock.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“The sooner the better.” Quinn insisted. “Stop acting like a child and let me help. I can’t do much, but this is what I can do. He’s not going to refuse to talk to you if we’re here to, judge, as you put it.”

He must have touched a raw nerve, because Sherlock huffed in a manner he wanted to sound exasperated, which came out a little pained.

“Fine.” He said sharply. “But tell your guy I don’t want to hear his comments.”

“One day, you’ll learn to appreciate him.” Quinn hoped with a sigh. “Okay, see you on Sunday. I’ll pick James up when you take his place.”

He hung up, and it was clear from James’s face he had decided not to piece the puzzle together and was waiting for a ready-made explanation.

“Is your brother alright?” He asked nonetheless.

“Good question.” Quinn sighed again. “He’s in love.”

“With a guy.” James gathered.

“With John.” Quinn confirmed and completed.

James quirked a brow.

“My John? John Watson? How did that happen?”

“They met at your party.” Quinn filled in. “And apparently, they started sleeping together long before we did. Feelings ensued.”

James processed the news for a moment, with mixed feelings, going by his face.

“Do you think this will work out?” He asked eventually. “John doesn’t have the best track record with relationships.”

“Well, that’s at least one thing they’ll have in common.” Quinn joked.

But it worried him more than he let on.

“I do hope it works out. I’ve never seen Sherlock like this. I think it’s a once in a lifetime kind of things.”

“You Holmes boys are rather absolute, aren’t you?” James smiled affectionately. 

“Very.” Quinn said, giving him a kiss. “But you can tell John we’re worth the trouble.”

“He broke things off with Jeanette after one week-end.” James pointed out. “I think he knows.”

They proceeded to kissing in the corridor until a member of the library staff shooed them off. Quinn went quickly back to grab his books and they headed out. Quinn enjoyed walking hand in hand with James in silence before he spoke again.

“There was something else I wanted to tell you.” He said.

“Any other member of your family dating a friend of mine?” James asked playfully.

“No.” Quinn smiled. “I want to take up boxing classes.”

James’s eyes widened comically.

“Boxing classes?” He repeated.

He was obviously refraining from laughing.

“Don’t you do taijutsu already or something?” He teased.

“It’s okay for the bedroom.” Quinn answered. “Hardly enough if I have to defend myself against another assault.”

James turned serious in a blink.

“That’s what it’s about.”

“Of course it is.” Quinton frowned. “What did you think? That I have some weird kink about overpowering you?”

James, for an instant, looked like he clearly wouldn’t mind that. Quinn slapped in on the arm.

“Now is not the time to get turned on!” He scolded him. “I’m scared, okay? I can’t have you as my bodyguard 24/7 and while I am very competent with a computer, I want to have a chance to not be such an easy target physically.”

James pulled him into a tight embrace, and Quinton almost forgot why he was concerned a second before. Nothing could happen to him in James’s arms.

“You’re safe as long as I’m here.” James seemed to confirm. “I’m not letting anything happen to you again. And we’ll get him.”

He pushed him back slightly, only to smile and press a kiss to his lips.

“We’ll get him.” He repeated with confidence. “In the meantime, boxing classes are a good idea. You’re right, you have the right to be stronger.”

He kissed him again, a little more intensely than was strictly adequate for the middle of a campus.

“And, whether you like it or not, that’s indeed a turn on.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parallel chapter Sherlock's side, probably more complete (it has the dialogues)

After trying about a dozen times to reach Sherlock on his phone, Quinn eventually tried calling John, getting the number from James – who didn’t give it without a not-so-subtle suggestion that there had to be a good reason why Sherlock wasn’t answering. It was to their surprise then when John picked up at once.

“I was trying to get Sherlock.” Quinn explained after a short polite exchange. “You’re not with him?”

“No.” John answered. “He...oh, Lord, let me explain that from the beginning, since he probably didn’t mention it to you. Long story short, this guy had a grudge against him and last night he threw a few gay haters on him; Sherlock managed not to be beaten to a pulp thanks to a passerby who helped, and so they went to the police and they’re having a drink afterwards. I was about to join them, actually.”

“Is Sherlock alright?” Quinn worried.

“He has a few bruises and a split eyebrow, but it could have been worse.”

“Thank God.”

“Yeah.” John sighed. He then remembered that Quinton had been the one to call. “What did you want with him? Anything I can help with?”

“Oh.” Quinn answered. “I just wanted to wish him a happy birthday.”

There was a meaningful silence on the other side.

“It’s his birthday?” John asked. “Today?”

Quinn bit his lip.

“Don’t hold it against him.” He tried to defend his brother. “I’m sure he forgot himself. He was never good with this sort of things. One year when I was little he genuinely asked me why I wanted him to come with me to the living room before he even had breakfast. It was Christmas.”

John had a brief laugh, but he didn’t really seem to find the whole situation funny.

“Can we join you?” Quinn asked. “I’ll scold him for you, and we can have a few birthday drinks.”

“Sounds like a deal.” John agreed.

“We can even distract the other guy so you two can sneak out to the bathroom.” James slipped into the receiver.

“James!” Quinton and John both protested together.

James laughed, locking Quinn into his arms and kissing his neck. Quinn concluded his call with John hastily – if not rudely – to angle his head for an honest-to-god French kiss.

“My brother can wait, if you want _us_ to sneak to the bathroom.” The little Holmes suggested. “After all, he forgot his own birthday.”

“Hmm.” James hummed, planting kisses over the boy’s face. “Tempting. But no. Let’s go now. The sooner we go, the sooner we come back, the sooner I can take you home and keep you in my bed without interruption until morning.”

“Fair enough.” Quinn grinned widely.

Being just on the other side of campus from the bar, they walked hand in hand, barely even noticing the stinging cold wind around them.

Quinton remembered a sullen thirteenth birthday, when he’d discarded a friendly note wishing him all the happiness in the world _. I don’t believe in perfect happiness_ , he’d said. Mycroft had ruffled his hair. _Continuous happiness is impossible. But there are moments, Quinn, moments of perfect happiness, and I do hope you collect them_. He squeezed James’s hand a little tighter. If this wasn’t one of those moments, nothing was.

It shattered the moment they walked into the pub, and saw no other than Raul Silva sitting across Sherlock. Before Quinn knew, James had tackled the guy to the ground, punching the hell out of him. Quinton screamed for his boyfriend to stop, knowing that, whatever the faults of each party, the person throwing the hits was usually the one to get in trouble. He managed to pull him back – James let him when he saw the bartender rush towards them – and rubbed soothing, pleading circles on his chest to try and prevent him from beating Silva to death (as much as he’d have wanted to see him in pieces). He maintained what he’d said before: it wouldn’t do them good if James got expelled for battering someone, even if he had a good reason to. The bastard was bleeding, and it was good enough for now.

After everything happened and was over suddenly – the apparition of John, some confused explanations, people around them trying to understand what was going on, Sherlock snapping suddenly, the bartender’s surprising refereeing of the situation, James’s arms around him, and a good nerve-releasing laugh – Quinn realized he wasn’t afraid anymore. Maybe it was seeing Silva when he was not alone and cornered and scared. Seeing him bleeding on the dirty floor, just a man; nothing James, Sherlock, and an angry bartender couldn’t deal with. He _was_ confident his little hacking stunt could work. But in the meantime, since the man never seemed to be around a public computer, it didn’t hurt to see he wasn’t unreachable in real life either.

When Sherlock and John turned the corner, he threw his arms around James’s neck and kissed him wholeheartedly.

“Thank you.”

“Okay.” James chuckled. “For what exactly? Breaking a nose?”

“That, and just, being there. Being you.” He kissed him again. “I love you so much.”

James returned the kiss, hands sliding down his back and cupping his ass, almost lifting him off the floor.

“I live too bloody far away.” He groaned.

“Well, you’re in luck.” Quinn answered. “Because my roommate is out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here also... Don't know when I'll be able to deliver those next sex chapters!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, you know what's coming (no pun intended).

The logistics on Quinn’s narrow student bed were slightly different than on James’s double mattress back home. The first time they fell on the floor in a tangle of limbs, they laughed, but the second time, Quinton hit his head pretty hard on the bedside table leg.

“Ow.” He croaked.

Almost immediately, James picked him up into his arms, lifted him back on the bed. He checked the back of his head for any bleeding, but it was just going to be a big bump.

“You’re still treating me like a child.” Quinn pouted a little.

“No.” James countered. “I’m treating you like someone I love and worry about. You get hurt, I get hurt.” He closed the distance to kiss him, pushing him back until he was lying down under him, and smiled. “It also works for pleasure.”

Speaking of which, he pulled Quinn’s trousers and underpants off his skinny hips.

“Lay back and enjoy the flight.” He said.

And he kissed the tip of his half-erected cock, which became fully hard under the touch. He licked a wet trail up the length, before taking him whole into his mouth. When it hit the back of his throat, he drew back with a smile.

“You’re pretty big for such a scrawny kid.” James complimented. “I might get jealous of your endowment.”

Quinn had to laugh. “Right.” He cracked up. “I’d rather you got back to what you were doing than have this conversation again. I’m not too shabby. You’ve got the most gorgeous ass on earth. No contest. End of story. Now back to work!”

James kissed Quinn’s cock again, but didn’t take him whole again. Instead he grinned wickedly.

“Want to get your endowment in the most gorgeous ass on earth?” He asked in a suave voice.

Quinn’s breath hitched.

“Oh God. Are you serious?”

“Very.” James said. “I don’t picture you as a permanent bottom at all, nor myself a constant top. See? Not treating you like a child.” He winked.

“Oh, you bad man.” He heaved himself up on his elbows. “Are you sure though?” He worried. “You’ve never done it this way before.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” James answered serenely. “And I want this one to be you.”

Quinn swallowed hard. He was very very turned on, and just a little bit scared.

“I’ve never done it this way before either.” He said.

“We’ll do this together.” James smiled. “Here, I’ll start.”

He licked a finger, and reached between his legs to press it into his hole. He worked himself loose for a little while, as his boyfriend watched, wide-eyed and short-breathed, before finding Quinn’s hand with his other one and guiding him there.

“Join me.” He said.

He didn’t remove his own finger as Quinton slid his next to it, marvelling at the sensation. James’s breathing became even more ragged, the lack of coordination of their two hands producing maddening sensations. After a while, Quinn removed his hand and sat up – he was still beneath James, whose thighs must be beginning to hurt.

“Lie down.” Quinn said. “You’ll be more comfortable. And I want to...” He blushed, as if surprised by his own boldness. “I want to take you from behind, if you don’t mind. I want to lie on your back and hardly have any inch of skin not touching you.”

James emitted a growl, and grabbed Quinn’s face to kiss him hard, leaving him breathless as he lied on his front, resisting rutting against the sheets.

“The things that come out of your mouth, I swear.” He breathed. “I want you really, really badly right now.”

“Are you stretched enough?” The young Holmes worried, his mouth dry.

The sight of James, legs apart and hips slightly lifted up to present his hole, was damningly exquisite. Quinn’s was fairly sure his pupils were blown so wide his eyes must look black.

“Yes.” James assured.

Quinn leaned forward and kissed the back of his boyfriend’s neck before he aligned himself and pressed slowly in. James’s fingers curled on the sheets, and he let out a choked sound like he wasn’t sure whether he should breathe in or out.

“Does it hurt?” Quinn asked softly.

“A bit.” James confessed. “But in a good way.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Quinn promised, and he sounded way beyond his years.

He kept pushing slowly, until his balls were flushed against James’s ass – only then did he release the breath he was holding.

“Okay?” He asked. “Because that feels really, really good and I would hate for you to be uncomfortable. Do you need-”

“Stop talking.” James grunted.

Quinn didn’t need to be told more. He withdrew an inch and thrust back hesitantly, which drew another gasp from the man.

“God, you’re amazing.” James whispered. “You’re amazing.”

Quinn sort of wrapped himself around James, as he’d said, pressing his chest against his back, letting their skins damp with sweat brush together has he started moving back and forth atop James, slowly but deeply, tearing all sorts of expressions of ecstasy from his lips. James began to move with him, alternatively bucking his hips up to take him deeper and pressing his aching erection against the bed. When Quinton noticed that, he brought a hand down – he toppled on the side slightly as the support was lost and James followed, curling against him – and stroke his cock in rhythm with his thrusts. Within a few minutes, James was crying out and spilling come on Quinn’s hand.

“Holy Hell.” He breathed out. “That was embarrassingly fast. You little devil, you are-”

“Stop talking.” Quinn hushed.

He brought both his hands to grip James’s hips, and quickened the pace until he brought on his own orgasm, sinking his teeth into James’s shoulder as he came in him. James cried out as if Quinn’s voice had found its way through his mouth. Quinn stayed still after that for a couple of minutes, taking advantage that he was a light-weight to lie on James without crushing him, and feel his back swell softly with his breathing. Then he licked and kissed the teeth marks on James’s skin, and moved out slowly. At once, James turned over so they would lie next to one another, and kissed him.

“That was amazing.” He said simply.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Quinn smiled. “I don’t know about you, but I’ll support alternate fucking.”

James laughed, and kissed him again.

“Sixteen.” He whispered. “Unbelievable.”

“But true.” Quinn completed drowsily. “When will you stop having a problem with my age?”

“It’s not a problem.” James replied. “It’s a wonder.” He kissed him on the temple. “You’re a wonder.”

“To you.” Quinn said.

His eyes were already closed, and he was falling asleep fast, so James decided not to pursue the conversation – Quinn, however, went on himself.

“I don’t mean that as lack of confidence.” He said. “I like it. That you’re the one to see sides of me others wouldn’t suspect. God knows I don’t want attention from everyone...”

He shuddered in his slumber, and James closed his arms around him, hoping to ward off any thoughts of unwanted attention, any nightmares. As soon as Quinn felt himself tucked safely in those arms, he fell fully asleep.


	23. Chapter 23

They struggled to get up, too early in the morning – Quinn had classes, and James wasn’t going to stay there for a lie in alone (although he would have loved to see the look on Browne’s face).

“I can’t even offer you breakfast.” Quinn lamented. “The cafeteria is disgusting so I usually grab some Costa, but-” He checked his watch. “I’m late.”

“Go then.” James said, if slightly reluctantly. He had taken the second shower and wasn’t fully dressed. “I’ll meet you at 10:30 after your first class with some coffee. Sounds good?”

Quinn burst into a smile, and pressed a kiss to James’s lips.

“You’re perfect.” He approved. “See you then!”

He dashed, and with just the three or four hours of sleep they’d grabbed, James wondered where he found that energy.

Quinton received the (hacked) memo from the administration halfway through his lecture, and could hardly focus for any of the remaining hour. As soon as they were allowed to go, he ran to find James – who was already waiting with the promised coffee. Quinn couldn’t fly directly into his arms because of that, but the intention was there.

“He’s been suspended!” He announced gleefully. “Apparently there was enough for suspicion, and he’s been suspended until they investigate the situation fully and decide what to do.”

“Slow down.” James laughed, only getting half of the flow.

“I sneaked myself in the admin mailing list.” Quinn explained. “There was a notice that Raul Silva was suspended for an unknown duration, and that he was under investigation for sexual harassment on other students.”

James pulled him into a hug, balancing the coffee cups the best he could behind his back.

“My voice was heard this time.” Quinn smiled against his chest. “I’ll have to go thank Terry.”

“Who’s Terry?” James frowned.

Quinn chuckled. “The bartender. You could know his name, given the amount of time you’ve spent there.”

He stepped out of the hug, and took his coffee off James’s hands.

“You’re one to talk.” James answered, sipping his. “I’m sure you never said a word to him before last night and found out his name by hacking HR.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

James just smiled, and they stayed in silence, drinking coffee for a while.

“Celebratory dinner?” James invited after a while. “Tonight, my place. I’ll cook.”

“You cook?” Quinn asked, face lighting up uncontrollably.

“I manage.” James said. “Are you impressed?” He smiled.

“Well, I’ll have to taste first, won’t I? But, well, I myself couldn’t cook for the life of me, so bonus points for you.”

“Please tell me that’s a figure of speech and you haven’t established a point system between us.” James joked.

“No.” Quinn laughed. “I’ll admit to a bit of geekiness, but I don’t chart people like video games characters.”

They smiled perfectly besotted smiles at each other, and spent the next five minutes kissing between sips of coffee – or sipping coffee between kisses. Other lectures forced them to eventually kiss each other goodbye, too soon to their liking, but the promise of a home-cooked dinner (and everything around it) carried them through the day.

Quinn was tired nonetheless at the end of the eighth hour, and he couldn’t wait to be sitting on James’s couch sipping wine and watching him cook. He decided to walk – James had just texted him he was still doing some shopping – to let the fresh air rest his brain. James didn’t live too far, and he liked his neighbourhood.

It reminded him, by some thought association or another, of the conversation between James and John, the first time he’d sat with them. Had James been serious about wanting to join the army? Back then Quinn had no claims on the decisions James made, but maybe now they were involved he could bring it up and see how actually significant it was. He didn’t know how he felt about the idea itself, but he sure wasn’t keen on trying long-distance so early in their relationship.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the screech of tires and a crashing noise, followed by screams. Two cars had collided in the middle of the road, and though nobody seemed to be hurt, an absolute mess ensued. Distracted by the confusion, neither Quinn nor anyone else around him saw the person who knocked him behind the head and heaved him into a stationed car, which then drove away completely unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I now have a limited number of chapters left! (and for Sherlock's side too - I already marked James's as completed because I really wasn't inspired for it anymore :/).   
> I'll post the remaining chapters steadily over the next few weeks (I'll have exams and no time at all, but they're mostly already written and just need fine-tuning).   
> After that, the story will be finished, and I'll start on some new crackfics of some sort ;). So, let me know if there's anything you'd like to read in this verse before it's over!  
> With love.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: kidnapping, coercion, threats, abusive dirty talk, self-sacrifice, horrifying situation
> 
> Not a happy chapter.

When Quinn came to, he was tied uncomfortably to a chair in a surprisingly classy dining room. The decor was so unlikely he let out a stunned laugh.

“Enjoying yourself?” A voice sniggered behind him.

He felt his neck tense.

“Silva.” He said between his teeth. “This is going too far.”

“Is it?”

Silva came into his line of sight, with a smug smile all over his face and a glass of wine in one hand. With the other he held Quinn’s chin up and spoke an inch from his face.

“I’ll tell you what going too far is. Going too far would be raping you dry and dropping your broken body somewhere it’s not entirely sure you’ll be found.”

He licked his lips, but to Quinn’s relief (although he was quite sure it was only delayed) didn’t kiss him.

“But that’s not what I’m going to do.” Silva purred. “Because you’re going to give me the consent I want. That’s _all_ I want, Quinton dear. Consent. Then what grounds could you ever have to accuse me of rape?”

“That’s why?” Quinn said. “You want to fuck me consensually so the accusations lift?” He thought he saw a glimmer of hope. “If that’s what you want, I’ll amend my statement, I’ll-”

Silva laughed in his face.

“You are quite cute.” He rejoiced. “You got the first part right. I want to fuck you. Consent is a bonus. One I am not quite willing to let go, granted, so I took the necessary dispositions to obtain it.”

Quinn really didn’t like the sound of that, and obviously the effort he made to hide it did not fool Silva in the slightest, going by the wide grin that spread on his face.

“You’re wondering what they are, aren’t you.” He teased. “You’re terrified of whatever I came up with, because you know I’m not just going to threaten to hurt you this time. Been there, done that, right? No, you did see through me, I was much more imaginative this time.”

Silva leaned in until his lips were brushing against his ear, and somehow Quinn knew what the word would be before he whispered it.

“Sherlock.”

He couldn’t help the violent shiver that shook his body. Silva drew back with a laugh.

“Well, didn’t that strike a chord!” He gloated. “So, what do you say? It’s just a fuck, angel. Just a fuck, and I won’t lay a _finger_ on your dear brother. If you just kiss me, I won’t split his lip open with my teeth. If you just take you clothes off for me, I won’t shred his off his body. If you spread your legs, I won’t-”

“I get it!” Quinn cried, his voice coming out miserably broken.

“You know what’s more?” Silva goes on. “I’m sure he’d like it. Oh, he would hate himself for it, but he would _enjoy_ being taken rough. He would make the dirtiest little noises, and squirm pornographically, and tell me to stop in the most unconvincing way. He’d clench his teeth and yet be unable not to moan in unwanted pleasure.”

“Stop.” Quinn breathed.

“You’re more the type to whimper and cry and beg the whole way through, aren’t you? This is no fun at all. That’s why I’d very much prefer you to put on a slutty little act, which I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of, seeing the guy you’ve landed.”

“You can’t hurt Sherlock.” Quinn said in a tone he would have preferred less pleading. “You’re under investigation for attempted rape, you’d be caught.”

Silva snorted.

“University investigation. Which will amount to exactly nothing. And if you think you’ll have proof once I’m done with Sherlock, well, think about what that actually means. You’ll have _proof_. That is, if your dear brother is willing to come forward with his broken body as evidence. Which, in itself, will be no guarantee of my demise.”

He let the words sink in, before he once again came closer to whisper in his ear.

“Wanna take that risk?”

Quinn bit back a sob.

“I didn’t catch that.” Silva pressed on.

“No.” Quinn said miserably.

“Good boy.”

He went around him, and untied his wrists from the back of the chair (having lost the glass of wine somewhere in between), then actually swirled on his heels gesturing to the room.

“Why you said nothing about my place!” He smiled widely. “Do you like it?”

Quinton swallowed hard. He didn’t want to play this sick game. But did he really have a choice? Silva was going to have his way with him one way or another, it was pretty clear he wouldn’t back off, so what was worse? Acting and feeling like a whore and give the man what he wanted, or risk ending up raped half to death in a ditch and have Sherlock suffer the same fate? He wasn’t sure he’d have known how to answer that question if it wasn’t for Sherlock. Recovery would be close to impossible one way or the other. But he couldn’t drag his brother into this, it wasn’t fair. He’d found John, he deserved to be happy for as long as it lasted. Quinton steeled himself. This was going to be the worst traumatic experience of his life. But maybe he could do some damage control.

“It’s a lovely place.” He said in a tight voice.

“Isn’t it.” Silva grinned. “Oh, and you haven’t seen the bedroom.”

He held out his hand. Quinn fought back an urge to break into tears as he took it – it was dry and too large – and let the older man pull him past the rest of the flat (the place was absurdly big) and into a smartly decorated room with a giant bed. On the side, and Quinn flinched when he saw it, was a video camera on a tripod.

“Oh, yes, this.” Silva went to it, and stroke it fondly. “Well, you cannot be too careful these days. If you still thought you could report me, I’d be please to show anyone who asks how willing you were to strip for me, to suck my dick like you enjoy it. How you let me lick you open, with a little help from your own lovely fingers, before you fucked yourself on my cock while I was all but _powerless_ under you and your wild lust.”

Quinn closed his eyes, hugging himself, resisting the urge to run away and get out of here even if he had to jump through a window for that. Because there was Sherlock, as Silva reminded him.

“Anything I don’t like in that movie.” He patted the camera. “I take it out on another Holmes. One way or another, you know, I don’t even have to get my hands dirty. I have a few connections. I could even make a call now, if that’d decide you. No? How does my program sound then, do you like the scenario?”

He was going to be sick, was the honest answer. A nod was all he could do to play his part for Silva.

“Good boy.” The man repeated.

He switched the recording on, and went to lie in the middle of the bed, arms behind his head, looking absolutely smug.

“This is going to be very enjoyable. Will you undress for me, angel? Take your time. Turn me on.”

Considering the shape of the front of his trousers, he was obviously already turned on, but it would really not help to be smart about that and mention it. Besides, as long as Silva didn’t demand dirty talk or something, Quinn would avoid unclenching his teeth, keeping potential puke and tears under lock.

He stood at the foot of the bed, focusing on the patterns of the carpet. He removed his socks first, and the thought of James almost made him curl up and sob uncontrollably. But he didn’t. If there was still one thing he could keep, it was a sliver of dignity. Not much, given what he was about to do, but it would always be that if he wasn’t snivelling grossly. He unbuttoned his shirt – “Look at me.” Silva snapped, and he had to plant his eyes into the bastard’s. Once his shirt was on the floor (he felt cold and small), he reached for his zipper, but Silva stopped him with a tut.

“Not so fast. Caress yourself a little. Harden those nipples for me.”

Quinn felt his throat so tight he could hardly breathe. He slid his hands up along his sides, and pressed both his nipples between finger and thumb, tweaking them, making himself flinch.

“Oh don’t look so constipated.” Silva threw. “Smile, you’re on camera.”

Quinn remembered the threats, and let his mouth fall open, breathing heavily in his attempt to fight tears, which he hoped Silva would take as an effort to sound aroused. He wondered for a moment if playing for time would do him any good. James would worry that he was late. But that didn’t mean he’d find him, this time. There was no way for him to know where he was – given the design of the place and the few pictures Quinn had glimpsed in frames on the furniture, he’d guessed this wasn’t Silva’s own apartment, more likely his parent’s or even more distant relatives. James couldn’t be there in time if he moved heaven and earth. So best get on with it.

He kept one hand on his chest, rubbing absent-mindedly, while the other fumbled with the jeans, opened them and pushed them down awkwardly.

“Gorgeous.” Silva appreciated when he was in his underpants. “Come here.”

Quinn obeyed, climbing on the bed, every muscle tensed to the point it hurt. Silva grabbed him halfway and pulled him into a kiss, pinning his body against his. Quinn could feel the budge in his trousers stab his thigh, and almost retched in Silva’s mouth thinking it wouldn’t just be stabbing his thigh.

“Too many clothes on?” Silva said in a slimy voice. “Just what I was thinking. Help me get out of them, will you? Downstairs first. It’s getting itchy.”

Quinn sat up, having no choice but to straddle the man’s legs, and opened his trousers, unsure what to do next. Did Silva want him to pull them down, or...

Silva took that decision for him by grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand inside his pants. Quinn almost screamed and had the reflex to pull away, but Silva held him strong, and he had no choice but to feel his fully erected cock under his hand, and close his fingers around it under Silva’s own hand’s pressure. The angle was killing his arm, but he couldn’t for the life of him relax into a better position. Silva didn’t look happy about it.

“That will look a little forceful on the film, don’t you think?” He hissed. “If I were you I’d do something to rectify the balance, soon.”

He let go of Quinton’s wrist, and pulled his underwear down to release his erection, which Quinn still held in a trembling hand, shock-frozen, terrified to do anything out of line. There was absolutely no guarantee Silva would keep playing nice – well, relatively speaking. He could very well snap, at any moment, and damn the consequences of hurting him very badly.

“So, who’s bigger?” Silva asked with a barking laugh. “Tell me, will I fill you deeper than your darling boyfriend?”

Quinn focused on not choking.

“Well, have you lost your tongue?” Silva asked. “You’re going to need it though, in about now.” He smirked. “A nice civilised blowjob.” He quoted himself.

Quinton closed his eyes, addressed a silent prayer to the god of random interruptions – who knew; maybe the neighbour would suddenly need some eggs? – a silent apology in his heart to James, and leaned forward.

 


	25. Chapter 25

A bang on the door made him jerk back, his tongue just inches from the head of Silva’s cock, and he couldn’t bridle the mad hope that washed over him. Rescue! Could it be? His relief was short lived as Silva sprung up to grab the back of his head and smash his face into his groin. Quinn found himself nose-deep in the hair at the base of Silva’s cock, and closed his eyes in horror.

“Don’t mind that.” Silva snarled at he tried to manoeuvre himself into Quinn’s (tight-shut) mouth. “Get on with it, you slut.”

This time Quinn fought. He didn’t scream, because it would have implied opening his mouth, but he pushed back against Silva’s unfortunately strong hand.

“Police!” The banging on the front door resumed. “Open up!”

Both that and Quinn’s desperate punches made Silva see red, and he shoved Quinn so violently he tumbled off the bed, hitting the floor hard, skin stinging as it rasped against the carpet. Before he could crawl away, the man had leaped back on him and was chocking him against the floor with one hand, while the other reached between his legs. Quinn saw the madness in his eyes. The police was at his door and he only cared about getting what he wanted, quickly, before anyone stopped him, no matter if actual rape would cost him more than attempted rape. He was done for, but he either didn’t see it, didn’t care, or intended to spent his last moments of freedom with his cock forcefully shoved up Quinn’s ass.

He flipped him on his belly – Quinn’s face hit the floor painfully – as the door was broken down, and only had time to slip his fingers in the elastic band of his boxer shorts before he was tackled back by two policemen. A third one started blabbing the usual stuff about him being under arrest – Quinn curled up into a ball and shut down to the rest of the world. That, until gentle hands lifted him up and a jacket was laid on his shoulders. He opened his eyes, as Mycroft pulled him into a hug – it was all it took for him to break down and give way to crushing sobs against his brother’s shirt.

“There.” Mycroft stroke his hair. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

“My-croft.” Quinn hiccupped. “M-Myc-roft.”

For a minute or two, that was all he could say between his tears, a litany of relief and unasked questions that could wait. Mycroft kept petting his head, repeating “I’m here” and “You’re safe” in a soothing voice. Eventually Quinn managed to calm down and breathe more normally – the policemen had dragged Silva out and into their car. One came back, casting a sorry look to Quinn before turning to Mycroft.

“We’re taking him to the station. A team will be there soon to swipe the room, gather evidence. And, hum, we’ll need...a statement. It can wait.” He amended immediately, seeing Mycroft’s arm tighten perceptibly around his little brother. “I didn’t mean right now. But it’s better not to wait too long.”

“Thank you, Gregory.” Mycroft told him.

It sounded grateful, but dismissive enough that the officer left it at that and exited the room. They heard the police car drive away, and Quinn allowed himself to feel safe enough to wipe his eyes. Mycroft stepped back to take a look at him – Quinn saw the anger build in the lines of his forehead as he brushed a bruising cheekbone, the red welts on his neck, the tie marks on his wrists, and the carpet burn on his shoulder blade.

“Are you okay?” He asked eventually.

He wasn’t questioning his general state, which was obviously far from okay. He had been too modest to examine him below the belt at all, but Quinn knew what he meant.

“You got there in time.” He said. He let out another relieved sigh. “How?” He had to ask.

“Let’s get out of here.” Mycroft eluded. “Let’s get you a hot drink.”

Quinn could only agree, and even welcomed the delay in explanations – one more minute in this room was one too many. Mycroft picked up his clothes off the floor, and he jumped into his jeans in the corridor. He removed Mycroft’s suit jacket to slip his shirt on, but his eldest returned it after that, placing it back on his shoulder like a comfort blanket.

“Thank you.” Quinn whispered.

Mycroft knew he didn’t just mean for the jacket. He nodded, and wrapped an arm around him as they walked out.

“I came with the police.” Mycroft said. “Would you like to take a cab, or walk for a bit?”

“Cab.” Quinn said. “Home.”

And by home, he realized he meant James. James’s apartment, with the promised couch and wine and home-cooked dinner. He almost burst into tears again.

“James.” He added in a broken voice.

“I know.” Mycroft said softly.

“Did you tell him?” Quinn asked.

He was afraid of the answer. He didn’t want to see or imagine the pain and the anger he knew James would feel, he wanted to spare him for as long as he could; but he also didn’t want to tell him himself, he didn’t want to talk about it at all, he just wanted to be in his arms and forget.

“He knows something is up.” Mycroft said. “I told him I had it under control, yet I received...” He checked his phone. “Seventeen messages. This boy cares about you. You can thank him for the rapidity with which he worries. It’s the only reason I was in time.”

A cab pulled over, and Quinn waited to be seated inside to press Mycroft about how exactly he’d happened to be able to rescue him.

“I cannot always be there for you and Sherlock, I know that.” Mycroft stated. “However, I have both your phones on permanent monitoring – on don’t worry, I don’t read or listen to everything. Some things are just programmed to flag up. As it did at the third ‘where are you’ message your James sent you. I called him, he said you were supposed to meet, I told him not to worry, which was obviously a waste of breath, and I ran the GPS localization on your phone. When it came out from an address to the name _Silva_ , I knew it couldn’t be good. I _had_ background-checked him, after you mentioned his name. He’s been under previous suspicion of harassment and assault in his former university.”

“How did you get the police to follow?” Quinn wondered. “It seems to be little to go on, from an outsider’s point of view.”

His voice was almost steady. Mycroft had always had the power to level him wonderfully; they weren’t overtly affectionate with each other, but that he could calm Quinn down by just conversing with him in a situation like that was proof of how close they really were, and how much faith Quinn had in his eldest.

“Greg is a friend.” Mycroft explained. “Well, I don’t know if he is. But he owes me more than one favour. And he trusts me not to worry for no motive.”

“Well, you’ve given him one more reason to.”

“I’m not glad I have.” Mycroft replies sombrely.

“I am.” Quinn countered. “You could have not been there.”

“It could have never happened.” Mycroft noted carefully.

“But it did.” Quinn shuddered. “It did, and you worried, and you were there.”

“And it won’t happen again.” Mycroft promised. “I haven’t worked on reforming the custodial system for nothing.”

Quinn’s lips very nearly tweaked into a smile.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but there's only so much misery I can take!  
> Almost the end, folks.

Quinn saw Mycroft send a text as they were approaching James’s place, and he guessed his brother was giving his boyfriend the heads up. Knowing Mycroft, there would be no detail, but a name and an indication of the general mood. Whether it was a result of that precaution or just James’s natural perfection, he didn’t widen his eyes in shock, he didn’t fret; he made no comment, only pulled Quinn into his arms and kissed the top of his head. Then he shook Mycroft’s hand, thanked him, and said something about hoping to talk to him later. Having thus successfully yet extremely politely got rid of him, he led Quinn to the kitchen and fixed him a cup of tea. The tiny table was set for two, and on the stove a saucepan with the lid on was obviously cool now. Quinn felt his eyes well up with tears.

“I’m sorry.” His voice broke.

“Don’t you dare.” James replied.

He cupped his face, running his thumbs under his eyes to catch the tears. He went very gently over the bruised cheekbone, and Quinn could see the same flash of anger that had passed through Mycroft’s eyes earlier.

“ _I_ am sorry.” James said then.

Quinton almost startled.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” James repeated. “I can’t believe this keeps happening. I...I wasn’t there for you. I feel sick.”

He stepped back, a hand over his mouth, this time the horror showing slightly.

“I was no use.” He went on. “No use, and if it weren’t for your brother-”

“James.” Quinn interrupted him, putting down his mug to take James’s hands into his. “It was thanks to your messages that Mycroft got alerted. You can’t escort me 27/7, but James, it took you like five minutes to worry about me. You saved me. Again.”

James had a sad, choked laugh.

“You’re the one comforting me, on top of everything. What kind of boyfriend am I?”

“Only the best.” Quinn smiled faintly.

He stepped into his arms again, and they remained like so for a while, clutching to each other for dear life.

“Are you okay?” James said eventually, very softly, as if he was almost scared to ask.

“Not really.” Quinn answered.

He stepped out of their embrace, his face the picture of misery.

“I have to tell you something.”

James looked a little confused, but he nodded encouragingly. Quinn’s lips trembled a bit, but he took a deep breath. He had to be honest, they had to talk about it if they wanted to get through it.

“I...he...I was going to let him.” He stumbled. “Mycroft only got there in time because I was playing along. He’d have gone and raped me already if he... but he...”

He retched, tasting bile in his mouth. James remained very still, but he had the decorum to say nothing until Quinn finished explaining.

“He threatened to go after Sherlock.” The youngest Holmes went on, sounding a wreck. “To hurt him, to... I couldn’t... he said if I let him touch me he wouldn’t touch him, and he wasn’t going to let me go anyway, and I couldn’t, Sherlock, I didn’t want him to be hurt, and I didn’t want _me_ to be hurt, as badly as if...”

He choked, unable to continue speaking, breaking down into sobs, reliving and releasing the terror he had felt.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry...”

He didn’t even know why he was apologizing – or _if_ he was really apologizing. But that was how he felt. Sorry. When James’s hands pressed on his arms, his knees gave way, and he collapsed to the floor, suddenly limp. James followed him there, and cradled him against his chest.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated. “I’m such an idiot, I should have fought, you would have fought, anyone would have fought, rather than giving it to his intimidation, but I-”

“Ssh, what are you saying.” James interrupted, sounding on the verge of tears himself. “You took the right decision, Q, and it wasn’t intuitive, it was the hard decision, because it made you take over some of the blame, and that is a horrible feeling to have, but he...he wasn’t just empty words, and he would have hurt you if you’d resisted, he would have hurt you even worse, oh God, he would have.”

“I know.” Quinn sobbed even harder. “I didn’t want... I was so scared, I was so helpless and weak and-”

“Helpless and weak?” James repeated, between tears and rage. “Helpless and weak? Of course you didn’t want more pain, but that was _smart_ , Quinn, and the exact opposite of weak will. You fought your own instinct telling you to kick and scream. You saved your brother. You sacrificed yourself so he wouldn’t get hurt. If that is not strong, I don’t know what is.”

“I never felt less strong in my life.” Quinn whispered brokenly.

“We’ll get through this.” He whispered. “There is nothing to blame on you. You are brave, and you are strong, and we’ll get through this. I’ll help you heal. You’ll heal. I promise.”

His kissed his forehead with such force Quinn imagined him sealing his promise into his skin.

“I promise.” James repeated.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the eeeeeend!  
> Last chapter.  
> There shall be a little epilogue.

It took time. Quinn moved in with James because he couldn’t bear to be alone in his dorm room (Brown was on a work placement for three months). During the first few weeks, every night Quinn would start awake in a cold sweat, and rush to the bathroom to vomit the previous dinner. He lost weight noticeably – in fact to such extent, not being exactly bulky before, that it gave James a fright when he saw him shirtless in the bathroom one evening.

“Q, you have to eat.” He said gently.

“I do eat.”

“You have no appetite, and you regurgitate half your meals. I can _actually_ count your ribs. All of them.”

“It’s twelve on each side.” Quinn sneered.

“Don’t be smart.” James frowned. “This cannot go on.”

Quinn clenched his teeth.

“Sorry if I still have nightmares.”

“Then wake me up!” James recommended – he had brought it up several times before. “I don’t sleep through you being sick in the toilet anyway, and you know that. I feel powerless. Wake me up, let me hold you, let me help you breathe and fight back the nausea. It’s becoming as much triggered by habit than by the nightmares, and you can’t let those take over.”

Begrudgingly at first, then more and more readily, Quinn followed James advice, and kept a lot more of his meals down. For quite a while longer, he still couldn’t bring himself to take James’s cock into his hand, he flinched every time James brushed his nipples, and he found himself thinking – of even talking – about his brothers at the most inappropriate moments. One afternoon, he had a minor panic attack as they were walking down the street, and a car pulled over beside them to ask for directions. James had a little bit of a hard time explaining to the driver that Quinn had been instinctively afraid he would kidnap him. James showed a patience Quinn never knew existed in this world, and was always gentle, understanding, and really quite funny in his attempts to use humour as part of the recovery therapy. Quinn fell in love all over again, every moment of the day, and prayed it would last forever.

“I wish you would marry me.” He whispered one night, when he was sure James was asleep. “I wish I had the guts to ask you, and you’d say yes. I’d say yes to you every day of my life.”

But he would wait. He stopped being afraid, in his heart, that James would not love him as much and as long as he did. James loved him enough to bear with him now. They had a lifetime to figure out the rest, and Quinn would fight for him if he had to. But not now, he thought, kissing James’s sleeping face. Now there was another battle they needed to fight – and win.

The last day of the trial (Mycroft had made absolutely sure there would be a trial) Quinn was a ball of nerves. The procedure had felt excruciatingly long, and the testimonies he’d had to make had been an ordeal he never wanted to go through again. But the day of the verdict was finally there, and he had to go, he had to look the man in the eyes as he got sentenced – because he would, the only remaining question was for how long – and finally get some closure.

“You look amazing in a suit.”

Quinn turned to his boyfriend with a little frown.

“James.” He said reproachfully. “Now is not a good time to flirt.”

“Now is the best time to flirt.”

He placed himself behind his young boyfriend and started massaging his shoulders.

“You’re way too tense.”

“You think there might be a reason for that?” Quinn snapped.

James hugged him from behind, kissing the side of his neck.

“He’s going down.” He soothed. “This is a formality. A liberating, fucking about-time formality. Then we can go back home and do something creative in those suits.”

The perspective pulled a little smile out of Quinn, and he took James’s hand in his before they walked into the court room to take their seats. Quinn felt younger and smaller than ever. He had wanted to dress smartly, not only because it was a trial, but to appear stronger, more adult – although he knew the prosecution had heavily played the card of him being “just a child” being abused, even if he had actually reached the age of consent. Not that there was consent in this case. Silva’s defence tried to plead there was, but it was discarded by the background of intimidation and coercion he had built around Quinn – as it happened, abduction too was an aggravating factor. What’s more, several other young men were brought to the witness stand, as it appeared it was not a first offence for Silva. Quite a few times he hadn’t been prosecuted for the accusations made against him, but this time Quinn’s story and Gregory Lestrade’s testimony of catching him red-handed did a lot to ensure he wouldn’t walk away from this. In the end, Quinn didn’t have to use his hacking skills on him, but he felt all the better for it. It didn’t diminish the knowledge that he could very well do it. But it was better if everything was perfectly legal in this process.

The sentence was to five years. As much as Quinn gathered, his case alone since there had been no actual rape would have given Silva between six months and two years, but it was aggravated by his display of violence, and by evidence of repeated offence – some more “successful” than others for Silva, although no victim presented worst-case-scenario testimonies. Quinn hoped they were none at all, instead of the bleakest possibility that they did not come forward for one reason or another.

James hugged him for a good five minutes, releasing him only when John cleared his throat beside him, and Sherlock all but snatched him from James’s arms to wrap him in his. Knowing how little of a hugger Sherlock was, this was meaningful. Mycroft contended himself with a hand on his little brother’s shoulder, and a smile to James (he still didn’t look approving of him, but he knew better than to fight Quinn on this, probably for as long as he lived).

“I’m glad you’re safe.” Sherlock smiled when he let Quinn go.

Quinn smiled back. “I’m glad your creep case didn’t have to end in trial. I’ll practice my right hook for future references.”

“Well.” Sherlock said. “If there’s one thing you can’t accuse Moriarty of, it’s being a rapist. He’s all mind-games and whatnot. He’d sooner give up than use physical force. He might hire someone to do it for him, but-”

“Okay.” John interrupted. “Can we stop talking about him?” He turned to the general direction in which Silva had disappeared. “Or him. Come on, let’s get drinks.”

“Excuse me?”

They all turned to the handsome young man who’d spoken, and who was looking at nobody but Quinn. This one recognized him as another witness.

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

He’d been fifteen at the time – Silva a couple years older – and his consent in their encounter more than dubious.

“I’ve been ashamed for almost ten years.” He went on. “I don’t think I’d have said anything if you hadn’t. I’m sorry for what he did to you. I’m glad he didn’t go all the way.”

“So am I.” Quinn said.

He didn’t know if he meant himself of the other guy. He remembered a sickening story of a half-drunk half-forced mutual hand job.

“I wish him to rot in there.” The guy concluded. “Anyway, I hope you’ll be fine.” He looked round at the four men surrounding him. “You look loved.” He smiled. “Take care of yourself.” He turned to the others. “Take care of him.”

He turned away, and they saw him join a very pretty, very pregnant girl. She hugged him, and they both turned back to wave before getting out.

They all stood there a little pensively. Eventually Quinn spoke the final word.

“Life goes on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, that little reference to Moriarty will be developped in the next chapter of Sherlock's side!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last but not least!

“You look amazing in a suit.”

Quinn leaned against the doorframe, eying the older man appreciatively. James turned, attaching the final button of his jacket, and smiled a smile so bright it was almost blinding.

“Isn’t that bad luck?” He said teasingly. 

“It would be if either of us was wearing a white dress.” Quinn shrugged. “But I’m not sure superstition has caught up on gay marriage yet. After all, the bill Mycroft did his best to transform into an Act of Parliament only came into effect about ten months ago. I like to think we had something to do in England’s modernity in the matter.”

“Right.” James laughed. “Come here then.”

He pulled his fiancé into his arms for a rumpling kiss.

“Won’t your family be looking for you?” James asked when they broke for air.

“I told them to go get lost for a bit.” Quinn replied. “They’re all in hysterics, in their own way. Sherlock has gratified me with the secret affairs of half the guests already. I assure you I _really_ didn’t need to know about Uncle Herbert. Mother can’t seem to stop crying, I’m afraid Romola has been chosen as the hugger on duty. And don’t get me started on Mycroft, who decided everything was going wrong and is bossing everyone around from the flower girls to the caterer – anyway. I know I shouldn’t complain.”

He looked around with a little guilt. James’s room was empty, quiet, since John had left to check on cousin Amanda who needed a doctor after falling face first on the floor while round-dancing with other kids. The only family James had present was an old aunt and two estranged cousins. His friends were there in higher numbers, but none were quite close enough to share those moments right before the ceremony.

“Also I wanted to check on you.” Quinn added. “Make sure you weren’t having second thoughts.”

“Quinton Holmes.” James said reproachfully. “I haven’t changed my mind since I asked you to marry me five months ago. I haven’t changed my mind since I first told you I loved you five _years_ ago. I thought you’d grown out of that insecurity.”

Quinn smirked.

“Oh, I have. I just love to hear you say it.”

They kissed again, and suddenly James jerked back like he was hit by something. He looked pale and horrified.

“Five years ago.” He repeated.

“What?” Quinn worried.

“Five years.” James whispered. He cast his husband-to-be a worried look. “He’s out.”

To his surprise, Quinn had a smirk. They had, if not forgotten, avoided talking about Silva for five years. James would have thought evoking him would trigger more anguish than smiles – especially when it was about the end of his sentence.

“No he’s not.” Quinton said.

“Maybe not today.” James said – God forbid the day of his release was the day of their wedding! – “But-”

“No, I mean it, he’s not out.” Quinn insisted. “And won’t be. I made sure of it.”

“Oh Lord.” James said, partly amused, partly worried, and fully curious. “Wait until we’re married to tell me you’ve hired killers to finish him off so I don’t have to testify against you.”

Quinn laughed, shaking his head.

“Nothing that extreme.” He reassured the man. “I just made minor modifications to his file. Good think they digitalize everything nowadays.”

“And that will work?” James frowned. “I mean, hail to your hacking skills, but will nobody noticed?”

“You know how many trials are held a day in this city alone?” Quinn shrugged. “How many sentences, how many tenants in the prisons? Trust me, nobody will remember another case of sexual assault and how many years he was supposed to serve. They trust their files. And the files say he did horrible things and got a life sentence, and that is a compulsive liar and a manipulator. No-one will pay attention if he tries to convince them his sentence is over.”

He cocked his head, and smiled a little proudly.

“So yeah, the only thing he’s out of is our lives. That was part of the wedding preparations. Couldn’t have had him crash the party, could we.”

“You didn’t tell me.” James noted.

“No.” Quinn admitted. “I got in over my head with _actual_ wedding preparations, to be honest. And I wasn’t sure what you’d think of it.”

He paused, and had a little concerned frown.

“Is it unfair?”

James blinked several times.

“What?” He blurted out. “Are you asking... What?”

“I don’t mean I don’t want to see him rot in jail for all eternity.” Quinton explained. “I just mean, I know that’s not how justice works.”

“No, let me tell you how justice works.” James answered, his voice faintly tainted with anger. “Justice evaluates the pain he caused to five years in prison. Fair enough, I mean, if you got life for attempted rape, then what would you get for worse crimes. Anyway, then justice lets him out, and only takes further action if he does it again. Justice gives him an opportunity to make amends and be a better person. But you and I both know Silva is a serial offender, and that the question is not _if_ , but _when_ he comes on our radar again. Justice may be willing to take the chance. I’m not. And I thank whatever mystical power for your IQ and your way with computers, because you were able to do something about it.”

James smiled, and smoothed out the lapels of Quinn’s jacket.

“So in short, what I think of it is that the man who will marry you is a lucky bastard.” He said affectionately.

“Well, James Bond.” Quinn smiled back. “Will you be my lucky bastard?”

“The luckiest.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Et voilà, c'est fini :)
> 
> Thank you for all your support and kudos and comments, I hope you enjoyed this throughout. I sure enjoyed writing it, and I'm not sure I'm done with the Skyfall fandom, but right now I am completely wrapped up in some Charles/Erik AU, so stay tuned if you'd like to read some of that next! 
> 
> Cheers to you all


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